Fortunate Son
by rubygoddess
Summary: Around mid-season 2, AU. Giles' long-lost and rebellious son arrives in Sunnydale to wreak havoc for the Scoobies...especially for Buffy and Angel. B/S with B/A, S/D mixed in. Updated with Chap. 25 & 26, *COMPLETE* Please R/R!
1. First Impressions Are the Most Important

Disclaimer: Characters not mine, all Joss and Mutant Enemy's. Just like to see how much mess around with them when I can.

Pairing: Well let's put in this way. There's B/S AND B/A. This is the first in a series, so there's mostly B/A, but what it'll eventually end up being is for me to know and you to find out.

Feedback: Please, please, I'd love it.

Author's Note: This story is pretty AU, set around mid-season 2. However, since I'm the one in control, I've switched around things, time-wise. Events of "School Hard" never happened, Buffy is still with Angel before he turns again, and Willow is with Oz, an out-of-the-closet werewolf.

Chapter One: First Impressions Are the Most Important

"SON?!!" Buffy, Xander and Willow all yelled simultaneously in Giles' direction. Only the ever-laconic Oz remained silent, gazing at the hapless librarian intently.

"Yes, I have a son. About you're age, and um . . . he'll be moving to here and attending Sunnydale High."

The two Scoobies and the Slayer all stared, mouths hanging open, eyes glazed with amazement. "Why didn't you tell us about him, Giles?" Willow asked softly, her long auburn hair cascading over her shoulders. 

"Well I would have . . . but it never seemed to have come up in all our hours spent fighting the forces of darkness," Giles mumbled, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket to wipe his glasses with intense feeling.

"Back up." Young Xander Harris held up his hands in the air, dramatically imploring for reason. "Not really grasping the concept. Giles having a son? Giles procreating? Giles procreating . . . _with a woman_??" 

"That's usually how those things are done," Oz said. 

"Who votes for major ickiness over the idea of Giles actually having sex once in his lifetime?" Xander continued, waving his hand high in the air. Buffy's, Willow's and Oz's hands followed. Giles fidgeted where he stood.

"Look here all, I'm just telling you . . . this in hopes that you'll do your best to make my so—_him_ feel comfortable in this new environment."

"Why now?" Willow continued with the questions. "I mean, w-why is he moving here _now_? Where has he been all this time?"

"He's been living with his grandmother all these years in London. H-his mother, um . . . died when he was very young, about nine actually, and um, well, I was not equipped to take care of such a large . . . responsibility, so I left him with his mother's mother." Giles' eyes clouded briefly as he told the story. The rest understood and sympathetic silence hung over the room. Giles awoke from his reflective trance and continued. "Well, anyway, it appears that his grandmother has fallen ill, and can no longer take care of him, so she wanted to send him to place she knew he would be well taken care of."

"So she opts for the safety haven of the Hellmouth," Buffy quipped. "Gotcha."

"I simply wish that you can help him feel more acquainted here, that's all I ask."

Buffy nodded, seriously this time. "Don't worry Giles, we'll roll out the Welcome Wagon for your progeny. If he's anything like you, I'm sure we'll all got along just fine."

Suddenly a large crash erupted in the direction of the library doors. They had been thrust open with a violent force, so that they swung haphazardly off their hinges. A young, lanky, strikingly handsome and shockingly blond teen stalked into the library, black duster hanging off his slim, yet muscular frame. "Hey Pops," he said in a predatory, British accent, a cigarette protruding from his mouth. Giles, shook his head, walking up to his smirking son and grabbing the white cancer stick out of his mouth. 

"No smoking, William, this a public _high school, _remember?" Giles glared testily at the boy, who simply responded by curling up his lip in a smirk reminiscent of Sid Vicious. He glanced over his father's shoulder to catch a view of the four other astounded teens that sat seated at the table. Giles turned around as well, sighing as he prepared to make introductions.

"Umm, all . . . this is my son . . . William."

Xander, Buffy, Willow and Oz just gazed at the figure clothed in black leather and cotton who stood next to the twitching, tweedish librarian with stupefaction.

"Yeah," Buffy murmured, shaking her blond head absently. "I can really see the resemblance." _Kind of cute_, she added to herself. _In a Sex Pistols, grungy kind of way. Got that tall, dark and handsome thing going for him. Well, except for the bright, blond hair. Kind of like Angel . . . but not really_. She suddenly broke into a soft smile at the thought of her undead boyfriend.

"_That_ is your . . . son?!!" Xander blurted out. "_That _carries all your . . . _Giles-y_ genes?"

"Hey!" The bleached-blond lad interjected. "I've got a name y'know. It's _Spike_."

"Spike?" Xander and Buffy both exploded into laughter. "Reality check, um, Spike, but you're in a Californian suburb, not the mean streets of Hell's Kitchen. Here, we go by regular names like Xander, or Buffy." Xander sank in his chair with a highly amused look on his face.

"Right." Spike smirked, shoving his hands in his duster. "Those are names you give a domesticated bunny or ferret, or apparently, namby-pamby chits like you." Xander and Buffy's faces immediately hardened. _Okay so maybe "nice" doesn't fit into that "tall, dark and handsome_" _equation_, Buffy reflected. She had immediately decided that she didn't like this new character. Giles cleared his throat, well aware that his son was failing to make a good impression on the Scoobies. 

"Right well, William---"

"Spike," Spike corrected.

"_William_," Giles gritted his teeth. "You've met Buffy and Xander, um over there are Willow, and um, Oz." Oz nodded peaceably at him while Willow shyly waved.

Spike snorted. "And other stunning examples of the sensible name-picking that goes on here in Sunnydale." He cocked a disdainful head at his father. "_These_ were the bloody buggers you were tellin' me about? Oh, I can already see they're a soddin' fun bunch, they are, if they got nothing else to do 'cept hang around in a musty old library with the likes o' you." 

"Hey!" Xander irately sprang up from his chair. Willow placed a calming hand on his shoulder, easing him down as she politely approached Spike, holding out her palm. 

"Um hey . . . Spike, your father has told us . . . well nothing about you, but uh . . . welcome to Sunnydale all the same."

"Thanks." Spike hesitated before accepting Willow's hand in a rough shake. "Not surprised Daddy dearest over didn't tell you squat about me though. How _like _him." His face darkened as he turned to glare at Giles who twitched and bit his lip with impatient discomfort.

"Um, yes well . . William---"

"For the love of!!!" Spike whined. "I _told_ you to call me Spike! It's what my mates called me back in London, can't you at least _try_ to remember it's _Spike!_" 

"I'll call you what I damn bloody well please!" Giles exploded, his patience wearing thin. He sighed as he glared at his stony-faced son. "Look, all I want to know is have you correctly registered, visited the principal, gotten your locker, so on and so forth?"

Spike maintained a venomous glower towards Giles. "Yeah, I met with the bloody headmaster. Feisty little poofter he is too."

"_What_ language are you speaking?!" Xander discourteously exclaimed. "I mean what's all the 'bloody' 'sodding' 'poofter' 'bugger' junk? Geez, he's talkin' the crazy talk from Foreign-land."

Spike scowled. "It's called _English,_ you wanker. You Yankee blokes wouldn't even be speakin' it if it wasn't for us saving your arses in World War II."

"_Um excuse me_, but it was _us_ who saved you're crumpet-spouting, high-tea-falouting asses in that war, not the other way around." Xander in turn shot daggers at Spike, who irately stalked up to Xander to connect his fist to the boy's nose.

"Enough!" Buffy yelled, exasperatedly separating the two, who had apparently become quick nemeses. "Look . . . Spike." She squared her teeth resolutely as she stood up against Spike, poking him with a perfectly manicured finger. "Why don't you back off?"

Spike smirked lazily as he gazed down at the slight, skinny blonde. "Ooo, I like this one. Testy, she is." He did like her, despite the harsh, cold look she was presently giving him. She had a surprising air of someone tough as nails and fearless, all eclipsed in a fragile, sixteen-year old body. Spike was readily intrigued. "Give us a kiss, luv," he whispered huskily pressing his lips together in mock affection. Buffy, both disgusted and uncomfortable, suddenly became aware of her close proximity to her unforeseen wooer, and backed away. 

"Hey no inappropriate macking on Buffy!" Xander protested. "She leaves that to her friends." He pointed an emphatic finger towards himself. 

Just then, Cordelia Chase sauntered into the library, which was already in emotional shambles as Buffy and Spike glared at each other, Xander muttered hateful epithets under his breath directed towards Spike, Oz and Willow sat in uncomfortable silence and Giles felt ready to explode from parental distress. "Hey losers. Which one of you wants to write my English paper for me? I have no time, Bloomies is having their huge semi-annual sale and I have some major shoppage to do." She paused as the occupants of the library grimaced at her. "What? There'll be riding privileges involved. I'll take you anywhere you want for a week in my convertible." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Wait, no, let's make that a day. It's not like you guys will have that many places to go anyway, probably just here and the Bronze and here and the Bronze . . ."

"Cordelia!" Giles gave her a steely glance. "We're sort of . . . in the middle of something."

"Pfft, like what, I---hey who's that?" Cordelia turned her attentions to Spike, who suddenly perked up when he heard that she had a convertible. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the gorgeous young boy and she unconsciously licked her lips.

Giles tiredly attempted to introduce his son to a smiling Cordelia, but Spike pushed him out of the way. He paused to give a once-over gaze of approval at Cordelia's tiny outfit of a miniskirt and baby tee. 

"The name's Spike," he said genteelly, taking her hand and pecking a kiss to it. "Happy to make your acquaintance . . .?"

"Cordelia," she finished, smiling coyly. "You're new."

Spike nodded, smirking. "Yes, I am. I'm uh," he cocked his head at Giles. "Rupert here's son."

"Rupert?!" Giles started angrily. "Who said you could call me that?!" 

"_Giles_? Having a son? That's of the wow." Cordelia incredulously turned to him. "You actually impregnated some girl?" 

"That's what I said!" Xander chirped, but his face soon fell as he realized he actually agreed upon something with his mortal enemy. 

Cordelia soon turned back with great interest to Spike. "So Spike, this is your first day huh? How do you like Sunnydale High so far?"

He made a face towards the rest of the group. "Not exactly feeling rays of welcome thus far, it's lookin' to be sort of a drag."

Cordelia scoffed. "You mean these losers?" She waved a dismissive hand at the rest. "Whatever, they _totally_ do not represent what Sunnydale is all about."

"Yes, yes, they've got Cordelia and Co. for that," Xander agreed. "And you'll be soon finding that Sunnydale is a bitchy, whiny, ho-ish place to live in." Cordelia glared at him.

"What are your classes?" She continued, sidling up suggestively towards Spike in a way that made Buffy's eyes roll.

"Um, first period, biology, second, P.E., third, Trig, fourth, American Literature," He paused to snort critically. "Like there's a fat lot to that class. That's a bleedin' oxymoron if I ever heard one."

"Oh, you have Ms. Randall," Cordelia pointed out. "Major bitch she is, the key is to suck up like you have never sucked up---"

"Yes Cordelia knows all about the sucking," Xander couldn't help but adding. Once again, menacing sneers were exchanged. 

"Well Spike." Giles suggested, desperate to get Spike out of his hair momentarily, "H-how about Cordelia s-show you around school, let you become familiar with the premises?" Spike nodded his head amiably in agreement but whipped his hand out.

"Need money."

Giles frowned, wiping the heavy perspiration from his forehead. "What?! Whatever for?!"

"For a package a' smokes."

Giles gritted his teeth. "Spike. This. Is. A. School. No. Smoking. Allowed."

Spike shrugged. "Fine then. I need it for . . . school supplies. Yeah, school supplies. Freshly sharpened number two pencils and that sort."

"You _just_ said you needed them for cigarettes!!!" 

"I changed me mind. I want to start off as a bright, successful student here."

"No!! I'm not giving any money!! Not when you just said you needed them for cigarettes!!"

Spike's face hardened. "I should 'ave known. Can't expect Daddy here to even care a twopence about providing for his own son, not when he's been ignoring him for the last seventeen years."

"That's not fair, William," Giles sighed. 

"IT'S SPIKE!!" he yelled before sharply turning to make his exit. "Come on, Christina," he mumbled, as he stalked away.

"It's Cordelia!" Cordelia called as she raced after him. After the two left, Giles collapsed into a chair and cradled his head miserably in his arms.

"He seems . . . nice," Willow voiced weakly.

"Kinda intense," Oz reflected.

"Gotta say, not really feelin' the love," Xander mused, waving towards Giles.

"Yes, well, I must say I can't expect Will---er, Spike to feel very . . . familial towards me, not after all this time. I suppose he still has deep-rooted anger towards me. He hasn't really ever gotten over the death of his mother, and he certainly hasn't seen me around for support."

Buffy shrugged. "So he has mommy issues. No big."

"Is if you're _Norman Bates_," Xander pointed out.

"He is quite a handful," Giles conceded. "A little more than what I bargained for. His grandmother did mention he fell into a wrong sort of crowd back in London. She did hope so that I would do my best to . . . um, reform him."

"You got us for that!" Willow brightly smiled, sending the perkiness factor of the room sky-high. "Big ol' reformers, we are." She nodded towards Oz who affectionately brushed her hair from her face. 

"Yes, I do hope you all try your best to make him feel comfortable. I do realize he is rather . . . unsociable. But please . . . if only for me."

Buffy sighed, knowing that as much as she instantly disliked Spike, she remained devoted to his father. "Don't worry Giles, we'll try our best."

"Yes, well . . . Oh! And um, can I trust you all to um . . . ix-nay on the Ayer-slay?"

"You want us to not tell Spike about you being a layer? What?" Xander wrinkled his brow in confusion. Giles threw his hands up in frustration. 

"No! What I'm trying to rather unsuccessfully voice is, um . . . do try to keep it down about Buffy being the Slayer. And me being her watcher. And Sunnydale being the Hellmouth capital in general."

Willow's eyes widened. "You mean Spike doesn't even know that you're a Watcher?"

"Well, I jolly haven't gotten around to telling him. Around the house it's more like hostile silence followed by . . . well, hostile silence."

"Sounds sure homey," Xander reflected, thinking of his own home environment. 

"Gotcha, Giles. Mouths zipped shut about anything demon-y," Buffy nodded. "From the looks of it, it would probably excite the guy, rather than freak him."

Giles nodded, suddenly looking very, very tired as he rubbed his head. "Yes, I think it would."


	2. Fitting In

Chapter 2: Fitting In

The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual activity. Jocks tossing around the ol' pigskin, much to the dismay of the cafeteria staff, girls whispering feverishly about the latest gossip about Jenny Mitchell and Hogan Martin going out, nerds conspiratorially discussing the virtues of the Starship Enterprise as opposed to the Starship Voyager, shy wallflowers gazing weakly as they silently munched on the inedible sludge they called the daily lunch platter. Buffy, Oz, Willow and Xander all sat amongst it, happily lost in their own world of banter. 

"Why do they call it Jell-O? I mean, there's no O-ish aspect to it at all. I've only seen it in squares at this cafeteria. Shouldn't they call it Jell-Square? Jell-Cuboid?" Xander shook the giggling mass in his hands. 

"You are a man of deep reflective thought, Xander," Oz observed, draping his arm around Willow's chair.

"So Buffy, how's the Dark, Handsome Avenger?" Willow asked attentively, turning to her blond best friend.

Xander ducked and blushed. "Oh come on Will, I'm right here."

Buffy gave him a playfully chiding look. "You mean _Angel_? Dunno. Haven't really seen him these days. He's kind of in brood-mode. Does that every other full moon."

"Yeah, that full moon will trap you into all sorts of nasty habits," Oz said. "Which reminds me, you gonna hang in the library with me tonight, you know, keep watch, make sure I don't get all publicly wolf-y?" He turned to Willow, who nodded.

"He came by the graveyard, last few minutes of patrol last night. Said that we could meet up at the Bronze tonight. Kinda excited." Buffy grinned dreamily, lost in girlish romantic fever. Xander snorted disdainfully. Suddenly Willow sprang up, her hand waving furiously in the air. All the rest averted their gaze to see whom she was gesturing at.

Spike. Xander's look of disapproval burned deeper into his countenance as he caught sight of Spike sulking into the cafeteria, gazing around absently. "Him. Don't invite him over here!" Willow shot Xander a chastising look.

"Xander! Giles told us we have to be nice to him. Besides, he's in my math class. He's really nice . . ." She frowned when she saw all the disbelieving stares. " . . . Once you get to know him," she added. "Hey Spike!" 

Spike gazed around to locate her voice and stopped when he saw her. Nervously, he tried in vain to look around for anyone cooler to sit with. "M-maybe he can't see us," Willow reasoned, frowning when he didn't come right over. 

"Oh he can see us," Buffy mumbled. "He's just playing All-High-And-Mighty-Of-the-Lunchroom." Finally, sighing, Spike gave up and approached them. 

"Hi, Red," he said smiling friendly-like at Willow. He nodded towards the rest. "Umm, Xander, Oz . . . Betty."

"It's Buffy!" Buffy clenched her teeth. _No matter what Giles says, I don't like him. I can be nice to him, but I don't have to like him._

"Hi Spike!" Willow greeted him pleasantly. "How's the first day going?"

He shrugged. "Alright, I suppose. That Cordy girl who showed me around s'a really chatty bird, in't she? Nice-looking I suppose, but you can't ever get her to shut her bloody gob." Buffy restrained a giggle at Spike's accurate description of Cordelia. Shocked she was nearly caught laughing at one of Spike's jokes, she sunk into her chair. 

"Yeah, Cordelia's something else," Willow agreed, frowning as she internally thought of worse euphemisms for Cordelia. 

"So tell me," Spike said as he lounged in a plastic chair backwards, his legs hanging over the sides. "What's the what in Sunnydale? What 'ave you all got to do around here? 'Sides cow tippin' I mean." He grabbed an apple off of Buffy's lunch tray, eliciting a venomous glare from Buffy. " So where do all the blokes go?" He continued through massive bites of apple. "Y'know, where's the hotspot in town? Any good pubs?" 

"W-we're not really big on pubs in Sunnydale. Oh! B-but the Bronze!" Willow's eyes brightened. "It's really cool, it's where all the teenagers around here hang out."

"The Bronze?"

"Yeah, me and my band play there sometimes," Oz said. Spike turned to him in interest. 

"You got a band?" 

"Yeah. It's called the Dingoes Ate My Babies." 

Spike chuckled, shocking all with his sudden good humor. "Sharp name."

"Yeah, we like to think so," Oz agreed.

"Y'know back in London, I played in a band myself."

"Oh yeah?" A sudden spark of interest surged into Oz's eyes, something that equally took the Scoobs aback. 

"Yeah, it was called the Meat Cleavers," Spike grinned proudly.

Oz stared at him wide-eyed. "No . . . really?! I've heard of the Meat Cleavers!"

"You 'ave?" 

"Yeah totally! My friend Devin gave me a tape of theirs—yours, when he went visiting some friend in London last summer. You guys rock!" 

"Yeah?" Spike looked flattered and struggled to maintain a humble expression. "I dunno, I kind of think we lost focus as we went on, y'know."

"No way! I mean, you guys are really good. Y-you guys know more than . . . like _five chords_!"

Spike blushed. "Yeah, well, we do our best." 

"Wow, I gotta tell Devin that someone from the _Meat Cleavers_ actually goes here!"

"Hey, maybe we can group up sometime, y'know . . jam."

"That's would be awesome!" Oz's face was becoming increasingly flushed as once in his life, he was actually projecting some sort of emotion. It had alarmed and stunned the rest of the lunch table's occupants. Xander frowned furiously, obviously displeased that his only close guy friend was finding so much in common with his immediate enemy. Willow beamed, happy that her boyfriend was getting along so well with her new friend. Buffy just stared, feeling conflicting emotions of disdain and confusion over this suddenly, half-likeable Spike as he interacted peaceably with Oz. The two continued to compare musical techniques and interests, laughing and joking. 

"Hey, maybe you can come to the Bronze tonight, hang out with me and the band," Oz said enthusiastically, but his face soon fell as Willow poked him, reminding him gently of werewolf patrol. "Oh . . . except I've got . . . other stuff . . . to do." He frowned disappointedly.

"B-but you should still go to the Bronze!" Willow encouraged Spike. "Go there, meet people, socialize. It's a really fun place."

Spike shook his head. "I'm not gonna go by myself like a wanker."

"Y-you could go with B-Buffy! She's going tonight anyway." Willow pointed out. Buffy's eyes widened in alarmed protest as she kicked Willow under the table. _Angel_, she mouthed to her best friend silently, who shrugged her shoulders helplessly. Spike looked towards Buffy who stopped mid-furious shake of the head. He gazed at her thoughtfully. 

"As much as I would like to hang with a pretty little git like yourself, I've got better things to do," he remarked sourly, abruptly getting up from the table to leave. Buffy heaved a sigh of relief, but frowned when she realized he was half-way insulting her. "Hey!"

"Well I'll be seeing all." Spike nodded towards the table. "Red," he gave a wink, "Always a pleasure." Willow smiled broadly. "And Oz--" he pointed at the teen werewolf, "I'll catch you later, mate?" 

Oz nodded. "Definitely."

He turned to Buffy and Xander, who maintained awkward, suspicious looks "Xander . . ." he paused as his lips fell into a sort of suggestive smirk. "Betty."

Buffy twitched uncomfortably in her chair. Something about his gaze toward her was very unsettling. "It's BUFFY!" 

"Whatever." With that he stalked away from the table, only to be captured by Cordelia and her screeching group of harlots who rounded up Spike like a helpless animal. They began petting him, smiling at him, clawing at his duster and clothes, and in short leaving him utterly uncomfortable. Harmony in particular took a fervent interest in getting to know him as she chattered on, asking him where he'd previously lived, and whether he had ever been to France before, she heard it was "like, _right_ next to England". Spike shuddered and wondered what he had done to deserve such a fate. Buffy, however, smiled to see he had found a fitting end. 

"Looks like we don't need to dole out the Welcome Wagon then," she smiled. "Harm and all them got that pretty much covered."

Xander sniggered devilishly in agreement. "Oh yes, those flesh-eating wenches should make him feel right at home. I give them my well-wishes."

Willow shook her head disapprovingly. "Just remember what Giles said, guys. Let's try to fit him into our little coven of Scoobiness, hmmm?"

Xander and Buffy both sunk in their chairs once more. "Yes _Mom_," they grumbled in unison.


	3. The Perfect Date

Chapter 3: The Perfect Date

"So then he's all like 'bloody' this and 'bugger' that and h-he kept calling me Betty! Betty! Can you imagine? What do I look like, some dumb blonde?" Buffy held her hand up. "Wait, don't answer that." 

Angel chuckled as he tucked a stray lock of hair under Buffy's ear. " I think . . ." he murmured slowly, quietly, "That you look . . . absolutely beautiful." 

She shivered at the cool contact of his fingers on her bare neck. She paused to gaze at him, and suddenly, as usual, they found themselves caught in each other's eyes, letting all the noise and blaring music of the Bronze fade away. Buffy licked her lips unconsciously and gazed down at his. She ducked down to meet his, but Angel pressed a finger to her soft lips to stop her. "M-maybe w-we shouldn't . . . you know . . . cause we're here . . . in a public place," he gasped uncertainly. Dejected, Buffy nodded as she straightened and nervously turned to twirling the straw of her drink.

"Right . . . cause I forgot, you're all non-emotion-y in places with . . . people." Buffy gazed down awkwardly at her hands. 

"I just think that certain _things_ . . . are for . . . certain places and certain times."Buffy continued to nod, her eyes hardening in quiet anger. "Like in a vampire-infested cemetery during patrolling." Angel sighed. 

"That's not what I mean Buffy---"

"No, you know what?" Buffy held her hand up abruptly. "I got it. You don't really want people to know we're dating. Centuries old-vampire. Teenage slayer. Doesn't really scream conventional relationship, I know."

Angel shook his head in frustration. "That's not it. You think I care about my reputation? Kinda dead, so no reputation to be worried about there."

Buffy sighed. "I know. But then what is it? Because I keep getting this feeling that when we're together . . . you keep drawing back. Like you here . . . and then not."

Angel leaned forward and grasped her by the hand. "You know I'm always here with you Buffy," he said earnestly. She smiled slightly and brought a hand to his cool cheek. 

"I know," she whispered. Her smile faded when he gently removed her hand from his face.

"It's just . . . I'm not really used to this whole 'dating' thing. I haven't really been acquainted with it for a couple decades now and . . . I just want things to go right. Slow. Easy." Angel searched her eyes for understanding. Buffy shrugged uncomfortably. 

"Yeah. I understand. I should have known it would be weird for you to just hang here at the Bronze with me on a weeknight when your usual itinerary is composed of heating up a steaming cup of spiced liquidy-red goodness." She paused as Angel sighed and ducked his head. "Why don't we do something more . . . _us_. Patrolling sound good?" Buffy flashed a plastered smile weakly. 

"Are you sure Buffy? Cause we can stay here if you really want to. It's not that weird, it's not like I haven't ever been here before, well, more like in-the-shadows-type-here, but still---"

"No," she interrupted perkily. "I want us to have a perfect date. If that includes carnage and demonic death, then count me in." Her face turned more serious. "Just as long as I'm with you." Angel smiled broadly as he surprised her with a small peck on her lips. 

"Let's go," he agreed.

"So Giles' son really is like a . . . punk?" Angel shook his head in amazement.

"I know! Think of the weird. I mean, I always imagined Mini-Giles would come out of his mom's womb _dressed_ in tweed and spectacles. He's all Billy Idol-ish, the Next Generation."

Angel chuckled amusedly. "Gotta admit. Stunner that Giles ever got laid back in the day."

Buffy grinned. "I know. That's what we all said. Thoroughly emasculating to Giles, but still."

They walked comfortably, stakes swinging at their sides, through the moon-lit graveyard. The tension faded between then, now that they were in this place of death, the cold marble tombstones providing more comfort than the brightly-lit Bronze could ever give. It was this link, death and slaying, that truly brought them together, provided sense to this anomaly that was their relationship.

"So how's Giles feel about his long-lost son suddenly showing up in ol' Sunnyhell?"

Buffy shrugged. "Kind of tense. I mean, he hasn't seen the guy in seventeen years. He's probably never seen him until now. He feels really guilty about him being MIA from his own son's childhood and Spike is visibly seething about it . . . which I guess I kind of get." Angel turned to look at Buffy, who suddenly turned wistful, thinking of her own much-absent father. "But still . . ." she pointed out. "Doesn't give him a warrant to go all Mr. Joe Rude-o on all of us. Well except Willow. A-and Oz. They all kind of hit it off."

"So basically it's only you who doesn't like him," Angel smiled at her girlish hypocrisy. 

"And Xander!" she protested. But considering Angel's feelings about Xander, that didn't do much redeeming.

"So what, Xander's come up with a nickname for him too? Not 'Dead-Boy' that's his affectionate term for me, of course," Angel joked. Buffy grinned and punched him playfully, but Angel grabbed her wrist before she could and brought her close to him, so that their noses nearly touched.

"Time . . . place . . ." Buffy whispered breathlessly, already guessing his intentions. 

"Yes . . . vampires . . . patrolling . . ." Angel murmured back before they joined in a soft kiss that soon escalated into something deeper. Buffy let her tongue slide ever-so-gently into Angel's mouth, which he responded to by settling his large hands around her waist and drawing her in to the wide expanse of his chest. Buffy gripped his arms and gasped as they parted a few times. Buffy finally drew back first.

"Wow," she murmured.

"Yeah." Angel rested his forehead against hers. 

"No, I mean wow." She looked up and around the graveyard, parting from Angel. "We've been patrolling for hours and we haven't seen one vampire."

Angel wrinkled his brows as he became more conscious of their surroundings. "You're right."

Buffy put her hands to hips impatiently. "I mean, Fridays are usually a free-for-all for vampires, their time to play. So how come we haven't even staked _one_?"

Angel frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm." He paced the graveyard, looking around recent burial plots for signs of undead resurrection. He bent down and fingered the soil. He looked back up at Buffy. "These graves. There are holes here. These vampires have already risen."

"What?" Buffy neared Angel in haste. "What do you mean? Then where are they?"

Angel grasped some soil in his hands and ran it through his fingers. "It's dusty. It's got vampire dust mixed in." He looked to Buffy once more in amazement. "Someone's already been here, already staked these vamps."

Buffy stared at him incredulously now. "What---you mean _slayed_ them? Like what I do . . . but in the non-Slayer capacity?"

Angel shrugged. "I guess." He turned and sniffed the air, as if he suddenly detected something else. Getting up, he neared some bushes and dove between them, searching for something while Buffy frowned in confusion. He stopped when he found what he was looking for. "Buffy . . ." his voice wavered slightly. "Come here." Cautiously, Buffy stepped up to where he was and peered down in between the bushes. There lay a dead demon, green blood flowing from his horned head, trickling down his pustuled body with a stake protruding from his chest.

"Ewww." Buffy scrunched up her nose in disgust.

"Don't you see Buffy? This proves that someone was here before us, did all the slaying. But who?" He lost himself in thought, face turning broody-like. "Did Giles say he was going to patrol?"

"No. He said he was going out with Ms. Calendar tonight."

"Oz? Xander?"

Buffy scoffed gently. "Oz is all hairy and canine-inclined tonight, and um Xander? Not without direct supervision." 

"Well then who? We can't just overlook this Buffy, this is too weird."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, becoming increasingly suspicious. "How come suddenly someone's doing _my _dirty work? I like it dirty as is." 

"We should go to Giles to tell him about it."

Buffy nodded. "But let's not bother him about it tonight. Not when he's on non-Watcher time." Angel agreed and they walked hand in hand away from the cemetery.


	4. Fortunate Son

Chapter 4: Fortunate Son

"You say that the demons were all taken care of _before_ you and Angel got there?" 

Buffy nodded. "Yup. Vamps dusted, hornies de-horned, smellies aired out."

"Remarkable," Giles uttered, cleaning his glasses. 

"So what does this mean G-Man?" Xander chirped, lounging back in Giles' couch alongside Willow and Oz. "Is this a case of a Slayer-struck wannabe, vying for attention?" The group had gathered for a special Scooby session at Giles' cramped little condo, since the library was closed for the weekend.

"I don't think so. No one . . . except us and few others . . . knows about Buffy being the Slayer. This isn't a matter of Slayer emulation. Somebody's actually done this of their own imagination."

"What's with stern badness?" Willow inquired, puzzled. "I mean, this is pretty cool. Someone else has taken to pounding the big evil. This lets you off the hook in lots of ways, Buff."

"Well, call me old fashioned, but only one person does the slaying around here. And that's the Slayer." Buffy shook her blond hair out defiantly. 

"Yes, it is quite curious, and potentially alarming considering we don't know the motives for this mystery demon-hunter."

"Really? Cause I'm thinkin' demons . . . _dead_. Always a big, fat 'Of the good' check mark in that category."

Buffy turned to her best friend with a sigh. "It's not that simple Will. Giles is right. We have no idea what this alleged demon hunter is about. And it does tend to give me the wiggins when somebody's in town doing _my_ job." Willow suddenly understood her best friend's identity worries and patted her on the shoulder comfortingly.

"Oh are you having the 'What-If-I'm-Not-Best-Demon-Killer type wiggins?."

Buffy whimpered and frowned. "No. But now that you mention it . . ."

Willow shook her head feverishly, trying to repair the damage to the Slayer's self-esteem she inadvertently caused. "N-No! Buffy, that's not what I mean! I only mention 'cause you shouldn't be having the wiggins. You are totally the best demon killer out there, not to mention _the only_ vampire Slayer. The Chosen One. The Best. Sunnydale High was a pit of death before you came and protected us from the Hellmouth."

"From the Hell-what??" 

Alarmed, the whole group turned to see a confused Spike, his eyebrows arched high as he stood perched on the staircase. Giles stiffened with panic.

"Um . . . um, the Hell . . .um. . . um . . ." Willow blubbered helplessly.

"The Hell . . . Raisers," Oz calmly lied. "They're some big biker gang around these parts."

Spike's eyes brightened enthusiastically. "You got gangs around here?" Giles frowned towards Oz disapprovingly for exciting his son.

"Nomadic, my dear boy, they have quite cleared out of town," Giles mumbled, trying to salvage the conversation before Spike found out what they were talking about, or worse, was encouraged to seek and join these fictitious do-ers of violence. "They passed through town on some crime spree."

"Look here, Rupert, I'm not your 'dear boy," Spike scowled.

"I ask that you _don't _call me Rupert, Spike."

He had already turned to Buffy. "And you say Blondie here did the protecting?" He smirked. "What she do, screech at the top o' her giddy littl' lungs till their heads burst?" He flopped over to where Buffy was sitting and lounged next to her, so that they were mere inches apart.

Buffy gave him the patented Summers evil eye. "Yeah . . . and I think I feel another scream coming on right now . . ." She leaned over and pretended that she was seconds away from squealing in his ear. He just responded by bridging the gap between them, jutting his chiseled face near hers and giving her a saucy smile. 

"Oh, I bet I could make you scream, girly." He flashed her a wicked wink and though immediately repulsed, Buffy couldn't help but be fascinated by the roguish glint in his clear blue eyes. She quickly recovered by scrunching her face into a disgusted frown. Giles yelled in disapproving anger, "Spike!" 

Spike snickered as he flew off the couch, grabbing his duster from the coat rack. "Oh cool your jets, Daddy dearest. Like I'd ever venture to taint the Ice Princess's pure, snowy virtue."

"Ice Princess?!" Buffy jumped up from the couch as well, whirling to face him wrathfully. "What the hell is that supposed to mean??" Spike once again fell into a smirk when he knew he got a rise out of her. 

"Buffy, perhaps---" Giles struggled to mediate.

"No, I want to know!" Buffy yelled. "Where do you get off making judgements on me when I've only known you for exactly two days---not even. I've only ever spoken to you twice, most of the time spent correcting you when you say my name wrong." She clenched her teeth. "Which, by the way, IS BUFFY!!!" 

"Yeah, and in those two conversations you've really helped to make me feel all the more welcome to Sunnydale, 'aven't you?" Spike challenged, grinning victoriously when Buffy was silenced with guilt. Finding that she had nothing else to say, he turned to stalk out the door.

"Excuse me," Giles asked, his voice wavering with impatience. "But where do you think you're going?" Spike turned to face his father with a tired air. 

"Out."

Giles sighed. "Yes I'm w-well aware of that. Where out?"

"Umm . . . anywhere 'cept here?" he answered a question with a question.

Giles straightened, trying his best to look authoritative. "Well I think I'm fair when I say that answer will simply not suffice." 

Spike glared at Giles. "Look, Pops, I'm not one a you're bleedin' students who you can expect to play patsy with on a Saturday night." He cocked his head as he indicated the four teens, all of whom seemed perfectly comfortable with hanging out in their middle-aged librarian's humble abode.

"Hey!" Xander exclaimed indignantly. "We happen to be talking of highly cool matters with our local librarian, Mister. Like . . . books." He raised a single eyebrow. "_Sexy _books."

Giles resumed his attempts at reprimanding his unruly offspring. "Spike—no, I mean _William_." He emphasized on Spike's true name sharply. "I think if you can't adequately give me an answer, you'll just bloody well have to stay home." 

Spike stared at him. "What are you saying? Like, I'm bloody grounded?"

Giles twitched his lips. "Well . . . yes. I suppose that's the proper term for it."

Spike sniffed. "Yeah right. You're good for a larf, Rupert." He promptly turned to leave again. 

"William!" Giles' voice rose to a threatening tone now as he teetered on the brink of patience. "That was _no_ joke. I meant it, and if you proceed to disobey me, I'm afraid you'll won't be going 'out' for many nights hereafter." Spike stiffened and his whole composure suddenly took on a new, challenging animosity. 

"Oh I get it. You're trying your hand at the whole 'I'm-your-father-so-you-do-what-I say' gig."

"Yes, well that would be appropriate considering I _am_ your father. And if you continue to sass me this way, I'll bloody lock you in your room!" Giles was equally intimidating now, his voice bellowing and reverberating from the wooden ceiling beams. The four other teens sat uncomfortably as the son-father battle raged on. Xander whistled, trying weakly to ease the tension, while Oz wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. _Sass?_ he mouthed to a squirming Willow. 

"Oh, you're my father, are you? Just cause you give me a roof to sleep under after abandoning me and my mum for some odd years? Don't even try to find us, don't even come to the ol' girl's bloody funeral, see if your littl' nine-year old tike is holding up? I should accept you as m' dad cause you've been showing off your bloody brilliant parentin' techniques by ignoring me two seconds after I arrive in this soddin' hicksville and then acting like y'can't stand to be in the same room with me?"

Spike straightened as he feverishly spat out his questions, his stance warrior-like, his voice hard and razor-sharp. Yet there was something that flashed in his eyes that told of buried hurt, masked by hostile resentment.

Buffy stared at him through sudden tears, feeling undeniable sympathy and understanding as he continued to rant and rave towards a stunned and speechless Giles. She knew what is like to feel unbidden anger towards a neglective parent. Just hearing Spike voice some of the raw and wounded hurt reserved for an abandoned child opened old wounds for Buffy. She continued to stare at him while the Spike glared at his father with poison in his eyes, breathing heavily the way Buffy often did when she had just finished a full night of slaying. 

"William . . ." Giles started, his guilt-ridden voice beckoning just above a whisper. 

"No, you know what?" Spike interrupted, his voice becoming strained and gravelly. "I don't want to hear it. I don'tneed any explanations from you, _Father." _He said the last little word with a sneer, as if it was derogatory term. "You can save them, cause I've got some explanations of my own, one being that you've got to be the biggest _dick_ I've ever met in m' life." He turned for the door.

Xander shifted uncomfortably. "Wow, so, um . . . they don't have like a . . . funky British slang for _that_ word do they?"

Willow shook her head gently. "Not the time for the funny, Xander."

Spike went to open the door to flee when at the same moment a young woman stumbled into the doorway. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have got the wrong building again . . ." Ms. Calendar straightened and slumped half-way out the door as Spike quizzically looked at her, then shrugged as he continued to make his way out. Giles stepped into her view and waved at her awkwardly.

"Um, J-Jenny?"

Jenny Calendar's face lit up. "Rupert!" She quickly swept past Spike, who now stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her and his father. "I just wanted to deliver your book of poetry that you left at my house last night." She gave him a coquettish, seductive smile while she leaned close to him to hand the book to him. "It was very good. Perhaps you'd like to come over again next week and read more to me?"

"Oh, um, t-thank you Jenny. W-we'll see."

"Jenny?! What's this?" Spike suddenly thundered. He stalked near her to administer a glare. Jenny frowned at him.

"Um, Jenny, a-allow me to introduce to you, um, Spike. Spike, Jenny." Giles motioned towards the two. Oz, Willow, Xander and Buffy all exchanged worried looks. Jenny offered a cautious hand to Spike who just ignored it.

"You've got to be kidding me! You . . . and this . . . tarty bint?!!" Spike's mouth dropped with horrified protest.

"Hey!" Jenny sharply drew her hand back.

"I can't believe this! You dirty ol' bastard! You've been shagging this git and reading her drippy love sonnets and this whole time you don't even tell me?!"

"Bint? Git? Rupert, who is this?" Jenny demanded, placing her hands on her hips.

Giles clasped his hands and gazed towards the heavens, desperately seeking divine intervention. "Jenny . . . Spike is . . ."

"I'm 'is SON!" Spike interrupted. "Much as it sickens me in the gut to say it."

Jenny froze and her eyes widened in disbelief. "Son?" she whispered. She turned to Giles, her eyes searching for an explanation.

"Yeah, son. Course he wouldn't tell you 'bout me, why would he? Hasn't bothered to mention my existence to 'nyone, it appears," spat Spike bitterly.

Jenny shook her head with dismayed anger. "Rupert? H-how could you not tell me about this?" Sighing, Giles placed his hands on his girlfriend's shoulders, a sight which revolted Spike and sent him rushing through the door. Giles abruptly turned to see his son stalking out into the night. Panicked, he turned to the rest of the Scoobies. Buffy sprang up from the couch

"Do you want me to follow him?" She asked, gently trying to be of help. 

Giles eyes shone with intense worry and anxiety. "Would you?" She nodded.

"Spike!" Buffy chased the teen through the graveyard, his bright blond hair glowing with the moon's reflection making him easily distinguishable in the darkness. He continued to stomp through the soft grass, his long legs carrying him a step ahead of Buffy. "Spike!" she repeated, and it was only then when he stopped, visibly sighed and turned around, his black duster flailing about him.

"What is it Buffy?" It was the first time he had ever said her true name and it sounded as if he strangely acquainted with it, like he had said it many times before. Buffy paused and studied his hard, structured features, which looked incredibly weary, giving them a softer impression. 

"I just . . . wanted to see if you . . . if you were okay."

His lips tightened. "Did Giles send you?" His voice could so easily carry so much venom, especially when he said his father's name. 

Buffy shook her head gently. "No. I . . . thought maybe . . . well . . . I just wanted to see if you were okay."

"Already said that Blondie." 

Buffy sighed, but paced herself. "I know what it's like you know."

He didn't look at her, just pulled out a cigarette out of his pocket and held it up to his lips as he lit it. "What do you know 'bout what, ducks?"

"I know . . . what it's like to be . . . _that_ angry at someone . . . that someone being a parent. Someone that, despite how angry you may be at, you really need."

Spike whipped his head up at her sharply. "Need? I don't _need_ that bloody blighter, he can rot for all I care."

Buffy once again bided her time, trying not to succumb to his brash cockiness and hostility. She searched her mind for anything she could say to make him feel better. "What I'm trying to say is, I know what it's like to be in your position . . . My mom and my dad are separated. Well, divorced actually."

"Look, did I ask for your friggin' life story?" Spike interrupted rudely. Buffy glared at him and he softened slightly. She was only trying to help after all. He sighed tiredly. "So you just another statistic in the growing world o' shiny happy families goin' defunct?" He asked, suddenly wistful as he slumped against a headstone and gazed towards the starry sky. Slightly surprised that Spike had toned down his caustic attitude towards her for at least a minute, she edged near and slumped next to him.

"Yeah, I guess so. My mom, my sister and I all moved to Sunnydale last year after the divorce."

"And your pops?"

She shrugged. "In LA. Well, he _was_ when I last saw him a couple months ago. Last time I heard, he went tromping off to Spain to play footsie with his twenty-something secretary."

Spike whistled and shook his head as he sighed absently. "Fathers are really assholes aren't they?"

Buffy looked at him seriously as he took deep drags off his cigarette. "They can be. But not always."

"Yeah. 'Spose not. We sure as hell didn't luck out did we?"

Buffy straightened. "That's not true."

"Really? Cause from what I hear, you got lots a reasons to think so."

"Maybe I do. But you . . . Giles is good man, Spike."

Spike huffed angrily, dropping his cigarette and grounding into the grass beneath him with more force than needed. "Yeah? Can't tell that from where I'm standin'."

"I mean it. He's incredibly good and kind . . . and . . . when I came to Sunnydale, he made me feel welcome, at home. He's helped me so much."

Spike looked to her with disbelieving scorn. "This comin' from being your school librarian?"

Buffy paused. She had forgotten that she was forbidden to explain the special relationship between Watcher and Slayer that had undoubtedly was the main source of her and Giles' closeness. Somewhere along the way, she had ceased to look at the stuffy, old Brit as a mere official spotter of her Slayer activities. After a little more than a year, Giles had quickly filled the sore spot in Buffy's heart that had been caused by her parents' divorce. He became a _father_ to her, one of the best as far as Buffy was concerned. She wished Spike could see that.

"He's more than just my school librarian."

Spike shot her a sudden disgusted look. "You mean . . . you too? GADS, what mojo does that man have to get so many bloody young girls in his pants! First that smarmy littl' gidget back there and now you?! " 

Buffy once again was shocked. Just as she was getting close to actually liking---well, not that drastic, _tolerating_ Spike, he had once again gotten his rather large foot stuck in his fairly dirty mouth. She threw her hands up in the air dramatically. "EWWW! YOU PERV! NO! That's not what I mean!" 

Spike shrugged indifferently. "So what do you mean? How is it that you and my pop so are so chummy-chummy? You just have a thing for stodgy, middle-aged librarians or something? "

Buffy clenched her teeth. "Giles is like my . . . mentor. He's been a really good guide for me, that's all."

"Whatever you say pet. Doesn't mean it has anythin' to do with me."

"Don't you see? It has everything to do with you. Giles is a good man. If you stopped and gave him some credit, maybe you could see that."

Spike turned to her, his face darkening rapidly. "Look, honey, this ain't any of your business. I'd advise you to keep your pretty little nose out of it. What's between me and the poofter is between me and the poofter."

Buffy shook her head determinedly. "I care about Giles. He deserves more than a self-righteous son who treats him like dirt." She caught herself when she realized her angry defense of Giles carried her a little too far. She had never intended to say such hurtful words towards Spike, but she also wondered why she felt a twang of guilt when she saw him sober up and wince slightly at her words. 

Spike continued to glare at her, his voice coming out now in thick, harsh, whispered rasps. "_Shut your gob, Blondie_. You think you're so-high-and-mighty making judgement calls about things you don't have bloody comprehension of. I'm beginning to see why the man o' your house left. Prolly couldn't stand to be around such an egotistical _bitch_."

That did it. She threw a powerful punch at him with her right arm, surprising him momentarily before he easily blocked it. Gripping her slight wrist in his hands, he gave her an amused shake of the head. "Careful chicklet. Don't want to bite off more than you can chew."

"Funny, that's just what I intended to do." Whirling around to face the source of this new voice, Buffy and Spike both saw a bulky, leather-donning vampire behind them, standing ready for a kill. 

"Get down," Spike hissed, pushing Buffy out of the way behind a tombstone. Shocked, Buffy stumbled out of the way and watched in amazement as Spike roared and overtook the gargantuan vampire, fiercely punching him in the face repeatedly before stepping back to deliver a powerful kick mid-torso to the disgruntled vamp. Stumbling back, the vamp regained his footing and roared towards Spike, giving a powerful punch that knocked the wind out of him. Buffy sprang up and fingered the stake hidden in her pocket, but Spike quickly recovered and jumped back into action. The vamp tried kicking Spike's feet out from under him, but he swiftly avoided it and brought both his feet up in a kick-flip that took the vamp aback. The vamp growled with annoyance and hunger and lurched back over to Spike and swung at him twice. Spike blocked the punches and held the two fat arms in his hand before administering a head-butt that forced the vamp to fall back onto a tombstone. Spike took the opportunity to whip out a stake and throw himself onto the vamp, easily plunging it into its chest. Reveling momentarily at the rush of violence as the dust fluttered about him, Spike had ignored Fatty's pal who snarled behind him and rushed him. 

"Spike, behind you!" Buffy called, but it was too late. By the time Spike had turned around the vampire had already overtaken him, lifting him up and throwing him against a mausoleum wall. Spike collapsed against it and crumpled, dazed as the vamp stood over him and licked his lips and he bent down, straining a view of Spike's neck. Suddenly, two powerful arms gripped the vampire's coat and threw him off Spike. Buffy grimaced as she faced the growling vampire. "Sorry, but you're not making a lunchable out of him today. I don't even like the guy, but if I let you eat _him_, I would have to let you eat everybody, wouldn't I? And my gosh-darned Slayer morals are tellin' me that's it's not a Chosen One's business to make concessions like that." Jumping up quickly, she delivered a sharp roundhouse that the vamp ducked and countered with a sharp punch. Fatty's friend was obviously quicker than his dusted pal was. Buffy tried to swing a punch and rush the vamp but he once again avoided it, ducking under, then springing up when Buffy had paused to catch her thin neck in a crushing grip. Buffy's eyes bulged in horror as she felt the cold fingers encircle her neck and squeeze hard. She wheezed and flailed her arms and limbs, but the vamp just grinned saucily.

"Come on, Slayer, you're just gonna make yourself all stringy and tough doing that," the vamp advised as he pushed Buffy's head out of the way to view her neck. Eyes glittering, his fangs descended upon her, leaving Buffy gasping. Suddenly, the vamp stood upright, eyes glazed with shock as he let go of Buffy. "Aww fu---" he began as he quickly disintegrated. The dust cleared to present a furious Spike, stake held in mid-air. Buffy gaped at him as she hunched over, grasping her neck.

"What the hell were you doing???" They screamed at each other in unison, facing each other with equal impatience. 

"What do you mean 'what the hell am I doing'?" Spike yelled. "What the hell were _you _doing?!"

"My job!" Buffy yelled back. "Which apparently, tonight includes saving your ass from acts of unbelievable stupidity!"

"Your job?! You've got to be kidding girly, leave the vamp-killing to the professionals!"

Buffy gaped at him when she realized what he was saying. "WHAT?! What are you talking about?!!"

Spike relaxed and cocked his head, smirking. "What do you think I was doing, playin' Scrabble? I kill vampires. I'm a vampire hunter."


	5. Secret's Out

Chapter 5: Secret's Out

"WHAT?!!" Buffy repeated, gazing in shock at a very complacent Spike. "Y-you?! You hunt vampires . . . oh my God, it was you who dusted all the vamps and that one demon the other night!" 

"Yeah." Spike puffed up his chest proudly, but frowned. "Wait a second . . . how'd you know 'bout that? And by the by, why don't we re-visit that whole question of 'what the bloody hell did you think you were doin' woman?' Taking on a big ugly by yourself like that?" 

"I told you, that's my job! _I'm the Slayer._ Y'know, crazy chick who plays with lots of weapons and stakes? The _actual_ vampire hunter in this town?"

Spike stared at her, stunned for a second before letting out a huge guffaw that took Buffy aback. "Oh go on!" he said through hearty chuckles.

"I'm serious! I'm the Vampire Slayer. The Chosen One. I fight the vampires and the forces of darkness, I don't have time for bored, testosterone-y, violence-obsessed teenage boys who spend their evenings trying to get killed attempting my job. Do you know how stupid you are?!" 

Spike continued to shake his head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me. I can't believe . . . I mean, I heard about 'the Slayer' back in London, but I thought it was the imaginative creation of bloody feminist zealots and that sort." 

Buffy sighed. "Well you're wrong. I'm the Slayer. I'm real. I'm no myth. And I have _no_ tolerance for idiots like you who put themselves in situations where I have to duck in and play babysitter. So why don't you take your own advice and leave 'slaying to the professionals'?"

Spike snorted. "Oh please, I've prolly been dusting demons before you grew into those sweaters a' yours, pet."

Buffy glanced down at her tight blue sweater and hugged her arms around herself self-consciously. She glared back up at Spike. "I can't believe you. Do you realize what the hell you've gotten yourself into? Killing vampires for fun, like it's some sort of sick hobby?"

Spike chuckled. "Yeah, it _is_ way better than video games that's for goddamn sure" he agreed. He smiled when he thought of the rush of battle, the adrenaline high he felt when he connected knuckles to skin, listening to the bone crunch under his force. The violence was addictive. As he surfaced from his reflections, he realized he was standing in front of a very disgusted, pissed-off looking Slayer. Clearing his throat briefly, he shrugged. 

"I can't believe this," Buffy exclaimed, shaking her head. " I can't believe that my Watcher's---" She paused when she realized what she was saying. She wondered if it was right for her to admit to Giles' identity as her watcher. It would probably blow Spike's mind, to know that his own, seemingly un-cool father was actually well experienced with the very same activity that Spike relished in. She decided against it. "Wait. Does your father know about this? About you being a vampire hunter?"

Spike scoffed. "What you are daft, girl? A' course not. Ol' Man Rupes would blow his top if he heard what I was doing." He suddenly stiffened with fear. "You're not gonna sell me down the river, are you Blondie?"

Buffy thought a while, conflicted before shaking her head hesitantly. "I guess not. But I just don't understand how you could put yourself into such a stupid situation like this. You're just a regular Joe-Schmoe human. I'm the Slayer. I've got all these super-human, Slayer abilities and powers. Super-strength, quick reflexes, ultra-fast healing abilities---"

"God, a bloated head's all you got, Blondie. Way you talk, you'd think you were God's gift."

"I didn't say that. But I do know that I've got powers that you can't comprehend. You act like it's alright that you're doing this, playing the super-human renegade demon killer. But you have no idea what it's like. It's no game."

"You think I don't know that? I know what I'm dealing with, I've been doing it for a long time. Back in London, I was in a gang. A vampire hunting gang. Been in it since yea high. Saw my first vamp at the tender age a' nine. Since then, it's been a part a' my life. Sure the job can be fun, but it's got it's ugly sides too. Through the years, I've seen too many friends die, too many innocent people die. I may not have your Super woman kryptonic powers, but I can't help but do what I do. You think after seeing those bumpies take a chunk out of a human, you can just turn your back and sod it all?" He was staring at Buffy in earnest now, and for the second time this evening Buffy felt a strong pull from his eyes, gravitating her own towards them. They were a fiery blue, she hadn't really noticed before. Then, they sparked with an aggressiveness, a predatory perverseness. Now they were shining with honesty and for a fleeting second, Buffy conceded that Spike definitely had nice eyes. Shaking her head to break out of the stare she placed her hands on her hips.

"I don't understand. You've been hunting vampires since you were _nine?_" Buffy asked, an eyebrow arched high.

"A 'course not. I _saw_ my first vampire when I was nine." His face darkened slightly. "Didn't start in the gang till I was 'bout thirteen."

Thirteen. Two years before Buffy herself had first been called. She had to admit that he must have had a lot experience. It was miracle itself that he was even alive after four years of fighting. She herself _died_ after one year. And from the brief demonstration she had gotten tonight, he certainly was quite the well-trained fighter. "I guess you do have a lot of experience then," she voiced aloud.

Spike grinned. "Loads. See this scar here? Here, above my eyebrow. Got that trying to slice up a Kelgfar demon." His eyes misted over briefly as he recollected the memory. "Nasty big wanker, he was. I remember it was one of the first demons I had fought before and Munitz stupidly left me alone, a kid of thirteen for Chrissakes, to deal with it. He throws me a sword that's about four-fifths bigger than my body and too heavy for me to handle. I catch it, but it's lurches over and smacks me, blade side on me face. Munitz sees, laughing his bloody head off while I've got blood runnin' down my bloody face and I'm pissed right? So I wave the sword around in his direction and whaddaya know? The Kelgfar demon's comin' right at me, ready to do me in and I slice his head clean off without even noticing." He chuckled at the memory while Buffy watched him with a mixture of disgust and interest.

"Munitz?" She asked curiously, puzzled as to have stumbled into Spike's mid-narrative recollections. 

"Huh?" Spike still was lost in a world of nostalgia. "Oh. Yeah. He was the gang leader. A right good bloke he was. Was in the band with me. Sorta taught me everything I needed to know about slaying, life, stuff in general. Guided me and that sort. Kinda my friggin' Yoda, you might say."

_Like Giles_, Buffy thought. "So what happened to him? Did he, well was he . . in battle . . ." She let the words linger with tact.

"Munitz? Oh no, the wanker's back in England with everyone else in the gang. And I'm stuck _here_ cause my soddin' grandmum thought I was up to no good. I came home one night after blowing up a vampire nest in an old warehouse and immediately shipped got off here. Stupid bint, she is. Hope she gets bitten good by some nasty." His face darkened again as he lit up another cigarette. 

Buffy could almost laugh at the familiarity of Spike's words. That was exactly the circumstances of her expulsion from Hemory and move to Sunnydale. With every word he spoke, Buffy found herself a little less belligerent against Spike and a little more understanding. After all, he certainly understood the whole slaying thing, so there was no need to introduce that there. 

"But I guess it's not so bad here," Spike spoke up, drawing the cigarette from his mouth and releasing an easy puff of smoke. "Sunshine, nice climate, lots and lots of vampires to kill. I've never seen so many before in m'life. Not even in London. "

Buffy shifted uncomfortably. She never had really admitted to the strangeness of the Hellmouth to another person outside of the Scoobies before, but Spike seemed pretty experienced enough to understand it. "Well, yeah . . . about that . . . you see, Sunnydale is kind of a strange place. Not exactly Normaltown, USA."

Spike snorted. "You're telling me. First night here, I get attacked by some big-ass Hash'iak demon. You know how smelly those buggers are? Wasn't exactly expectin' a welcome party but still . . ."

"Sunnydale is . . . well it's a place of mystical convergence."

"What?" Spike's eyebrows rose at an alarming rate. "Come again?"

"Ever heard of the Hellmouth?"

Spike shrugged. "In storybooks and the like."

"Not storybooks. Here. We live on it." Buffy nodded in response to Spike's wide eyes. "Sunnydale is located over the Hellmouth, the center of demonic activity in this side of the hemisphere. Lot's of big uglies and baddies are attracted to it and they tend to make a nasty habit of causing havoc here. So it's not really surprising that we have one of the highest fatality rates for a small town in the country."

Spike shook his head, now rumpled with blond spiky curls and sighed amusedly. "Well this has been quite a night. Found out my dad's shagging some bint, some scrawny littl' girl's the much famed Slayer and that I've just relocated to the friggin' Hades of Southern California."

Buffy frowned at the prospect of being titled a 'scrawny little girl'. "Well we deal with it just fine. I guess you'll have to too."

"Oh I don't mind about the Hellmouth bit. Kinda quirky, but at least it'll provide a morbid sense of entertainment. But I really must say, _you?_ As the _Slayer_? Shocker of my life." He snorted and stepped back to give a slow, languorous glance down her body, squinting hard as if there was some essence of her that was incomprehensible. "I mean, really. Look at you. A prissy little prat who looks more concerned with Saks than stakes. And you get to be the one with all the super-human powers?"

Buffy glared him. The honeymoon was fleeting it seemed. He apparently returned to berating her small size and girlishness and she returned to hating him. "Look, I don't really care what you think about the whole Slayer thing," she said sharply. "Just remember that no one can know about this. _No one_. My identity as the Slayer as well as Sunnydale being the Hellmouth is conversationally off-limits, get it? This is a whole Clark Kent operation here."

"You don't have to tell me twice. Where I come from, us vampire hunters keep our habits on the lowdown anyway."

"Fine," Buffy agreed. "You don't tell anyone about me being the Slayer, I won't tell anyone about you being a vampire hunter. Deal?" She offered an outstretched hand. Spike hesitated and finally broke into a slow smirk before shaking it firmly, looking deep into her eyes with a half-serious, half-chiding expression. He continued shaking her hand and smirking at her playfully before she snapped her hand out of his uncomfortably long grasp. "Deal," he echoed.

"He's _what_??!!" 

"A vampire hunter," said Buffy grimly, prompting expressions of shock and confusion from every one seated at the lunch table except Oz, who as usual, reclined back in his chair with an air of aloofness. 

"Spike? Giles' Spike? Annoying Spike? Mr. Billowing Coat of Re-hashed-Post-Punk-Aspirations Spike?"

Willow poked a sputtering Xander and returned her attentions to Buffy. "That's so weird. Giles' own son is a vampire hunter just like him. I guess it runs in the family. I can't believe they both don't know about each other."

"Well how long are we going to have to keep them in the dark about each other," Xander whined. "Because it's gonna be like some bad episode of Days of Our Lives where everyone knows what's going on, but they're too caught up in their own web of lies to admit to each other that Lindsay's baby is actually Brett's, _not_ his half-brother, Jordan's. And then it will all end badly with Lindsay faking her own miscarriage before Jordan finds the switched paternity test . . ." Xander broke off from his tangent to view raised eyebrows and questioning faces. ". . . Not that I'm an avid viewer of the show or anything," he rebounded quickly. 

"Xander does bring up a good, if not convoluted point," Willow agreed. "How long are they supposed to go on not even knowing about each other? They _are _father and son."

Buffy shrugged. "Well judging from last night's circus, it doesn't look like they'll ever sit down and have a heart-to-heart chat about it." Suddenly, Spike entered the cafeteria with his usual flash-and-crash entrance as he rudely knocked into people. 

"Hey!" Football player Larry yelled as his lunch tray, piled high, fell to the ground as a result of Spike's careless saunter by him. Falling to the ground to pick up the remnants of his lunch, he glared at Spike's retreating figure. "Hey!" he repeated again, much more menacingly. Spike stopped, turned around and walked up to Larry, his eyes burning down at his hunched figure intimidatingly. Slowly, Larry rose to full height, towering over Spike as he cracked his knuckles.

"Oh he's in for in now," voiced Xander eagerly as the lunch table watched the drama unfold. "Neanderthal Larry will pound Spike into a peroxided pulp and all will be right with the world."

But Spike did not appear to be backing down. He remained standing upright, eyes squinted, head cocked to the side. He bit his lip and sneered dangerously at Larry, bringing his hand slowly to the pocket of his duster. The whole cafeteria paused and watched, straining their eyes to see what it was Spike was reaching for. But Larry had seen it, and that was enough. Eyes widening, he cleared his throat and gazed at Spike apologetically. "Umm, sorry man. I, uh, s-shoulda looked where I was going." With that, he practically ran from the cafeteria in haste. 

The occupants of the cafeteria were all silent for a moment before resuming their usual clatter. They paused a while and regarded the new exchange student with mixed feelings of fear, respect and distrust. The jocks mumbled, the punks nodded appreciatively, the Cordettes sighed dreamily and the nerds cowered as they found that there was just another person in school to potentially whale on them. Even Buffy was impressed. As much as she disliked Spike, she knew how much of a jerk Larry could be. For Spike to stand up against him was pretty admirable. Spike slumped and smirked, lazily sauntering to their table and flopping himself into a chair.

Willow looked to him with awe. "Wow Spike, that was amazing! You stood up to Jerky Larry without even batting an eye!" 

Spike shrugged. "Oh, that wasn't much," he said, trying to vaguely disguise his pride.

"Nu-uh!" Willow continued. "That was totally cool! What did you show him to scare him off?"

Smiling, Spike withdrew a small silver knife from his coat pocket. The rest of the table stared in shock. "What?" he said off their looks. "It's just a bleedin' letter opener I nicked from the library. What's the big deal?"

"This is a public school, not Armory-R-Us," Buffy pointed out. "You could get kicked out for just carrying one of those things."

"Oh like Ms. Sunnydale over here is so virtuous. Like you don't have exclusive experience with weapons like say . . . a _stake_ would you?" He clamped a hand over his mouth in mock shock. "Oh dear, did I say _stake_? I m-meant _steaks_, you know with A-1 sauce and that sort . . ."

Buffy was not amused. "You can cut the obscenely bad puns, Spike," she sighed. "Everyone here knows I'm the Slayer." Spike's eyes widened as he surveyed all the nodding heads. 

"And we know that you're the big bad Slayer wannabe," Xander added.

Spike looked to Buffy with disbelief. "You told!" he yelled.

"Well I had to! They're my best friends! They know all about my . . . Slayer-y things!"

"Yeah!" Xander sat upright proudly. "We're her Scooby gang!"

Spike snorted. "Sounds right manly, Harris. Lemme guess. You're Velma."

Xander ground his teeth. "Listen Spike, don't get too excited. Just because we all know doesn't mean you can go tellin' everybody about it."

"Yes, because it would cause a sensational rumor at this school to hear about your lot's sorry misadventures in following around Blondie like a bunch of drips." Spike's eyes narrowed into mocking slits as he smirked at Xander.

"Enough!" Ever-the-peacemaker Willow separated the two's bickering exasperatedly. "We all know that we know who knows now." She grinned impishly at her own words. "Hehe that's funny." Spike cleared his throat and Willow returned to seriousness. "Doesn't this just show how much we all have in common? I mean now that we know about you Spike, it's guaranteed that we'll end up working together a lot."

"HUH?!" Buffy and Xander cried in dismay. 

"Well it makes sense. We're the Scoobs, we fight the forces of darkness . . . well okay, _Buffy_ fights the forces of darkness. But guess who else does? _Spike_. Besides Buffy, he probably understands slaying more than all of us ever will."

"The girl's right y'know," Spike agreed. 

"Excuse me, but I'm thoroughly offended," Xander sulked. "I've done more than my part in defeating the nasties. Think of all the vamps I've dusted."

"What _vamps_? You dusted that _one_ vampire after Buffy had pummeled him for 10 minutes and he was too exhausted to fight back," Willow pointed out.

"Not just that one! There was also that one time in the back alley of the Bronze when Buffy was cornered by that vamp, all meek and helpless and wearing quite the revealing black jumpsuit and I arrived just in time to save the day, all manliness and macho-like, much to the gratitude of Buf---" Xander paused a beat, searching mentally. "Wait. That just may have been one of my many adolescent daydreams, lemme just think . . ."

"Great." Spike looked disdainfully from Xander to Buffy. "So you let the whelp join into your crime-solving capers just cause he's having puppy love wet dreams about you? That seems gracious." Buffy grabbed her plastic butter knife from her lunch tray and attempted to impale him on it before Willow stopped her. Spike just sat back in his chair and laughed heartily. 

"Well I think we do just fine," Buffy continued sharply as she glared at Spike. "Who says we need to have Spike as another . . . Scooby? I'm the Slayer and this is my gig and my gig alone."

"Hey!" yelled Spike, offended. "I'm no Scooby wanker!"

"I prefer the term 'Slayerette' myself," Oz advised sagely. "A little more effeminate, granted, but overall, much more relevant to the circumstances." 

"We do not need Spike," Buffy persisted.

"Who _says_ I want to be needed by you all anyway?!"

"Buffy, think reasonably. You can't all save the world by yourself. You tried and guess what? You _died_. I mean, we do all we can, but sometimes we're not enough. So doesn't it help to have just one more person on your side? Especially someone who can come close to actually fighting vampires besides you?" Willow looked her friend who grudgingly nodded. 

"She's right," Buffy mumbled. She turned to Spike and narrowed her eyes. "But let it be known how much I violently dislike you." 

"Fabulous," Spike responded indifferently, sitting back in his chair lazily. "So what's this mean? I suppose we're all partners then?"

Willow nodded. "Yup. We officially recognize you as an honorary Scooby."

"It's as I always hoped!" Spike crooned in an exaggerated falsetto.

"You know what we should do? Have a celebration. Like a . . . an initiation party or something!" Willow beamed excitedly. "Oh, I know! T-the Bronze! You haven't seen it yet right? We should go tonight . . . ALL of us! You know, officially introduce you to the typical Scooby haunts. You kinda already been to the other one last night . . . the graveyard that is." She suddenly frowned. "That sounds a lot more morbid out loud."

"I don't think Spike wants to do that . . ." Buffy protested. 

"Course I do, why wouldn't I?" chirped Spike brightly, smirking. He obviously rejoiced at the prospect of ruining a good of evening of hers'.

She pursed her lips. "Oh really. I thought you had 'better things to do with your time than hang with a little git like me'." 

Spike shrugged. "Yeah. That was before I found out that you did those 'things' too." He chuckled and absently played with the silver letter opener, recklessly twirling about his slender fingers. "Come on Slayer, it'll be fun. We can swap on-the-job stories and techniques."

"And I suppose the next thing, we'll be toasting marsh mellows by the campfire and harmonizing 'We Are the World' to an acoustic guitar," Buffy scowled. "And don't call me that!" 

"Oh come on, Buffy let him come. You want to see the Bronze, don't you Spike?" 

Spike continued to twirl the knife in the air, this time dangerously close to Xander, who visibly cowered. "Don't care either way," he sighed. "Nothin' else to see in this two bit town."

"Then it's settled!" Willow could be practically radioactive with perkiness, an attribute that Buffy was not too fond of at the moment. "We'll all meet up at the Bronze around . . . 7-ish?" She squealed with excitement. "Oh this is fun, it's like an office party . . . and, and it's like we're people of different cultures together . . . y'know . . . British . . . American . . . um . . . werewolf . . ."

"Werewolf?!" Spike grabbed the spinning knife in surprise, much to the relief of Xander.

"Yeah . . . that would be me." Oz raised an affirming hand. Spike gazed at him with amazement for awhile before lapsing into acceptance.

"Huh." 

"This will be fun." Willow was shaking her head furiously.

"Yeah . . . real fun," Buffy grumbled, sinking into her chair miserably


	6. It's Time to Get Acquainted

Chapter 6: It's Time to Get Acquainted

The music of the Bronze was pulsing, filling the air with the staccato bass beats of blaring electronica to accompany the teenage, hormone-ridden atmosphere of the place. Buffy sat grumpily at a table, her eyes scanning the club for a familiar, tall, brooding character. 

"Where is he?" She wondered aloud, prompting Willow to turn from Oz mid-conversation.

"Who? Spike? Don't worry, he said he'd come."

Buffy snorted. "And I'm just counting the minutes until he arrives. No dummy, I mean Angel."

"Oh. You were expecting him?"

"Kinda. He said that he might stop by."

"Who?" Xander approached with arms full of drinks and snacks for all. "Spike?" His nose wrinkled in distaste.

"No. Angel."

Xander snorted wrathfully. "In between the Unholy Creature of Darkness and _Angel_, I'm thinking we should really reevaluate the guys we hang out with."

"I dunno, I think we have pretty good taste." Willow smiled softly, wrapping her arms around Oz who lovingly kissed her on the cheek. As she suddenly spotted a familiar black duster floating through the crowd, Willow pried her hands away from her boyfriend and waved towards it. "Oh, there he is now! Spike!" she called.

Swerving his head, he struggled to walk past the crowd to reach them. "Hey all," he smirked, grasping a bottle of Heineken.

Buffy frowned. "Where'd you get that?"

He looked down at the mint-colored bottle. "This? From the bar."

"Yes we know this," Xander stated impatiently. "We were more questioning you're legal status as to possess and consume such contraband. Here in America, we underagers don't feast on the ale like you drunken Anglo-Saxons do."

Spike whistled. "Look at the big bad narc. Got me shakin' in my boots, Harris. Gonna administer the frying pan and egg 'This is your bloody head on crack' lecture as well? Cause I'm all ears." Slumping in a chair he took an enthusiastic swig of beer. "Asked the barkeep for a beer. Handed me one in good faith. End of story."

"He didn't card you?" Buffy arched a disbelieving eyebrow. 

"W_eell_, a little friendly persuasion was involved," Spike conceded. He shot an impish grin. "Perhaps in the form of saying to the man, 'give me a beer or I'll pummel you till your balls fall off'." 

"So strong arming the bartender. Wow, I can't wait to introduce my mom. 'Look mom, my new best bud is the local menacing bully. Lock all the liquor cabinets'." Xander shook his head disdainfully.

"You wish Harris. You'd like that wouldn't you, to tell all your sorry geek friends you're heart-to-heart with the coolest guy in school?"

"_Coolest_ guy? Sorry, I think we're all out of those at this table," Xander replied pointedly. "Well, with the obvious exception of our beloved wolf-boy here."

"Oh Xander, you flatter me and the blushing soon commences," Oz remarked dryly. 

"Where's Angel?" Buffy resumed mumbling to herself, waving her head around in vain to catch a glimpse of him lurking in the shadows somewhere.

Spike frowned. "Angel?"

"Her main squeeze," Willow clarified.

His eyes widened with understanding. "_Oh_ . . . _Angel_. So you swing that way, do you?"

"What?!" 

"You know . . . bumps on bumps action? Only person who's got a name like Angel is usually a big busty blonde with lots n' lots a bouncy hair."

Buffy shook her head. "Is it just me, or is anyone hopelessly lost the minute he opens his mouth?"

Spike sighed impatiently. "I'm talking you and your bloody significant lesbo. Not that I mind such that kind of thing. Hell, I don't think any hot-blooded teenage boy minds that kind of thing."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Angel's a _guy_, Spike."

"A guy? Well that's a poof's name if ever I've heard one."

Buffy opened her mouth to administer a cutting comeback, but Cordelia swept in at that moment, carelessly pushing Buffy aside rudely as she slouched closer to Spike.

"There you are Spike! I've been looking everywhere for you!" She looked at the rest with distaste and coldness. "I see you're still foreign to the proper rules of coolness here in Sunnydale." She pointed exaggeratedly to all seated at the table. "You see, _these _freaks and losers are not the crowd you want to be associating with if it's a social life you hope to maintain. Now if it's lessons in how to be total rejects with nothing better to do but hang in a libr--"

"As much as I enjoy these fun-filled tirades of yours, Cordy, they really are unnecessary. You want Spike, you can have him." Xander interrupted and glared at Spike with emotion usually reserved for his female nemesis.

"And just when I thought we are getting to be the best of friends!" Spike sighed sarcastically.

"Ok then, it's settled. How about a spin on the dance floor, Spike?" Cordelia had already grasped his hand tightly and was dragging him away from the table. 

"Wait." Spike stopped dead in his tracks and shook his head ruefully. "I don't dance. No two-steppin'-Achy-Breaky-pansy-crap for me."

"Well maybe you should start because if you don't go with me, Harmony will soon get her big meat hooks into you before you know what hits you," Cordelia said, waving her head towards a fast approaching Harmony, who was stalking towards Spike with the force of a tigress. Panicked, Spike grabbed Cordelia's hand and ran towards the dance floor.

"Right then. Here we go."

Soon, the rest of the group was left staring at Spike being helplessly caught in between Cordelia and a fuming Harmony, who soon instigated a catfight between herself and Cordy. Much scratching and hair pulling ensued, with Spike left on the sidelines, amused and utterly confused.

"I put down ten on Vapid Blonde!" Xander announced eagerly to the rest of the surveyors, slapping a bill down onto the table.

"I dunno, Cordy's got a couple inches on Harmony, plus she's got those spiky Italian stiletto heels on," Willow observed, wincing as Cordelia whipped off one shoe and hurled it at Harmony's head. "Yikes. That's gotta hurt." 

"No, I gotta go with the manicure factor," Oz remarked. "Look at the fake nails on Harmony!" 

"Why in damnation are they fighting over Spike in first place?" Buffy wrinkled her nose at the scene. Harmony had begun to do some real damage, using the fact that Cordelia had one of her shoes off to her own advantage. Xander spilt over, laughing hysterically as Cordelia hopped around on one foot with as much dignity as she could muster. "I mean, if it was someone like Brad Pitt, I would understand going for the full-on hissy fit."

"O-or Freddy Prinze Junior!" Willow sighed dreamily over her fantasy teen media-god. 

"Pfft. That personality-less wannabe thespian? I sooner fight for _Spike_ than him."

"Fight for who?" As usual, Angel made his entrance by furtively sidling up to Buffy before she ever knew he was there. She was always a bit jolted when he did this, his cold hands settling loosely around her arms, his body pressed slightly against her back, but then again, she always felt jolted in his presence. 

"Geez Angel! You are quite the lurker!" Buffy wrapped her arms around him anyway, inwardly ecstatic to see him.

"Force of habit. Us vampires aren't really acquainted with walking. We lurk instead." He paused when he saw how Buffy recoiled at the slightest mention of any connection he had to his darker nature. "What's going on here?" he said, abruptly changing the subject as he looked towards the prizefight that everyone was intently watching. "Another apocalypse?" 

"Naw, just two irrational females fighting over some scumbag." Xander pronounced the words with relish. Angel looked back at the two screeching girls and blonde male, who sat lazily reclined against the stage, cigarette in hand.

"Spike I guess?" Angel nodded towards the distinctively sniggering teen, which he recognized through Buffy's descriptions.

"In the flesh. Though why those two are duking it out over that particular flesh is still a mind-puzzler." 

Angel studied the young man hard. There was something familiar about him somehow . . . he couldn't quite put his finger on it . . . like he had known or met him before . . . in a dream perhaps. Yet he had never meet Spike before, ever . . . as far as he knew. Nonetheless, the sight of Spike suddenly made Angel feel very sick inside.

"Angel?" Buffy placed a worried hand on Angel's shoulder gently to stir him out of his trance. "Are you okay? Is there something wrong?"

Angel shook off his fixated stare on Spike. "Huh? Oh, no, nothing's wrong." Buffy remained unconvinced as she scrutinized Angel's dark expression. _It's nothing_, he thought, trying to calm himself. _You're just hungry, that's all it is_. He made the mental side note to visit the butcher plant on the way home.

Growing tired of the bitchfest, Spike threaded back through the crowd towards the table. A chuckle under his breath and his cigarette still flopping out his mouth, he reached for the half-empty beer bottle. "Well I must say, this is a strange town. In the part of London I lived in, there were transvestite hookers on the corner and monkey peddlers with dressed-up dwarfs banging on their pipe organs. This town is by far stranger." Reaching for another cigarette, he brushed roughly against Angel. "Sorry mate," he said without looking up. He continued chuckling as he lit the cigarette expertly, a thin cloud of smoke whispering out of his mouth. "I mean, you've got the girls with the----" He absently looked up to face Angel, who stood towering over him with an apprehensive look on his face. Spike's face immediately turned ashen, the newly enjoyed cigarette tumbling out of his gaping mouth. 

"Spike, this is Angel," Buffy sighed through introductions. "Angel, Spike." She smiled, self-satisfied at Spike, tucking an arm around Angel's elbow. "See? _Male_. Got the Y-chromosomes and everything. My _boy_friend."

Spike stood completely still and did not respond. It seemed like years of silence passed between the two males, one a boy, the other a vampire, both of their faces glazed over with an indescribable expression of familiarity. Angel cleared his throat and offered a hand stiffly. "Spike. Nice to meet you. Buffy's told me about you."

Spike clenched his teeth and surprised all by ramming his fist in Angel's jaw. Stunned, Angel stumbled back a few paces but Spike had already lunged at him and had him pinned against a column. Smashing his beer bottle against a table, Spike jutted the shard near to his face, his other hand trapping Angel's neck. Buffy grabbed his raised arm before he could do any damage.

"What the hell are you doing?!!!" Buffy screamed, throwing Spike off Angel. She had forgotten her own strength and Spike went flying into an opposite column. But already he had picked himself up and grabbed a nearby pool cue, snapping it half on his knee and advancing back onto Angel, prepared to stake him if not for Oz, Willow and Buffy all holding him back. 

"You!" Spike snarled at a conflicted Angel, his whole body squirming against his restraints. "I knew I would find you one day!" 

"What are you talking about Spike, you know him? You know Angel?" Buffy tried to calm her breathing, panicked at both Spike's erratic behavior and her boyfriend's near stakage. "How?" 

Spike glared at Angel with even more hatred than he ever carried for his father. Veins in his neck strained against pale skin, his muscles tensed, visible through layers of black. Deliberately, slowly, he rasped out the words as his eyes glazed over with intense malevolence. "He killed my mother."


	7. Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 7: Of Monsters and Men

Buffy stepped back from both boy and vampire, shock coating her every movement. "What?" she whispered disbelievingly.

"He did! He killed my mother! He murdered her! He's a fucking murderer! A fucking bastard!" Spike was raging now, slipping out of even Buffy's iron grasp and lunging back upon Angel. Spike was recklessly throwing thunderous punches as if in a homicidal trance, with every available person trying to keep him back. Angel ducked most of them and threw a few defensive punches of his own. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," He gasped, kicking out Spike's legs from under him. 

"Spike, you're crazy, Angel's never hurt anyone before!" Buffy thrust herself between him and Angel, obstructing him. 

"Never hurt anyone, has he? He's a goddamn vampire isn't he?!"

Again, Buffy froze in her tracks. "How did you know that?" 

"I SAW HIM KILL MY MOTHER! Ripped apart her neck, he did, sucking the life out of her!" His eyes misted over, replacing murderous rage with momentary grief. 

"I d-didn't, I haven't---"

"Shut up, you son-of-a-bitch! Shut up, you murderer! You _fucking_ murderer!!" His hand hung in the air, stake waving threateningly. 

"Spike." Buffy's voice struggled to remain calm, but was wavering uncontrollably. "You're delusional. Angel hasn't fed off of a human in eighty years."

"Then he is a vampire! And he murdered my mother!"

"NO." Buffy's voice turned ice-cold. "Angel has a soul. He is a vampire, but he hasn't touched any human being for years now. Not since he got a soul."

Spike turned his angst-ridden face to Buffy and sneered at her in disgust. "And you. You, of all people, a vampire slayer. You've been shagging him, jumping his dead bones like some kind of whore?!" 

Angel threw a massive punch that easily split Spike's lip and busted the side of his face open into a bloody mess. "Don't talk about her like that," he growled. 

"Or what?" Spike turned back to Angel cockily through black eyes. "You gonna kill me? Bite me? Drink my blood like you did my mother's?!"

"Stop it!" Buffy screamed. "Stop saying that!"

"Everyone's looking," Xander whispered, indicating the rest of people of the Bronze, who were watching the second fight this evening with interest.

"Don't care. Let 'em see in how many seconds flat I can stake this pissant." Spike hefted the broken pool cue in his hand. 

"Try me," Angel growled. Upon invitation, Spike flew back, his leg flying up and thrusting against Angel's chest, mid-torso. Angel fell back, but regained footing and ducked some of Spike's clumsy throws in order to pummel him repeatedly. Even after Spike was in submission, Angel continued beating him harshly, the iron tang smell of blood becoming more and more distinct and the crunch of bone heavy in the air.

"Stop!" Buffy grabbed Angel by the shoulders and threw him off Spike, who sat slumped in a half-conscious heap. Dropping to her knees, she unfeelingly shook him, though battered. "Ok, you win. Take on a vampire, insult his girlfriend and see just how soon you're dancing the victory dance around a big pile of dust. Now tell me what this is about!"

Spike spit up blood lazily and glared at her through furrowed brows. "I told you. He killed my mum. I saw him."

"He _hasn't_. He has a soul now. He used to kill and eat people, but now he doesn't. He's been given a soul and he fights against the forces of darkness---just like you and me. He's good."

"Nice story, luv, but you forgot one part. The part where he attacks my mum at night in a dark abandoned alley, throws me aside and kills her, right in front of my eyes."

"Spike---"

"I saw him!" His voice was insistent and harshly firm. "Him with a slutty blonde! Both of them vampires!" 

Angel suddenly paled, even under the pallor of death. "A blonde?" he whispered.

"Yeah that's right! Don't think I don't remember!" He struggled to get up, but Buffy held him down. "But you don't want to remember, do you? Don't want to remember that you forced a little nine-year old to witness his mother being eaten by two creatures of the night!"

"Oh god." Angel stumbled back against the wall and a light of recognition went across his face. Buffy tightened and looked to him with worry. 

"Angel . . ." She crept towards him oh-so-slowly. "It's not true . . . right?" But his expression was answer enough. 

"1989 . . . London . . . back of a deserted pub . . ."

"You remember now?! The way she screamed for mercy and got on her knees in front of you, but it only made you bite harder?!" 

"She was saying that I could take her . . . but just not William . . ." Angel's eyes shone with clarity. "She meant _you_ . . . y-you kept _crying_ . . . again and again . . . oh god, I can still hear it . . ."

Buffy shirked from his words. "No . . ." Angel heard the fear and denial in her voice and reached for her.

"Buffy . . ."

"No!" She wiggled out of his grasp. "You're lying!"

Angel tried to recollect the memories through gasps. "I had left America for London in the late 80s, just to see if things were better for me there. I avoided all people, I lived in the back alleys. But Darla . . . she found me . . . she drugged me and forced me to feed off of a girl. A young mother . . ."

"Didn't look like she was forcing you to do anything you didn't want to! You sucked her dry!" 

"I didn't know what I was doing!" Angel yelled, but Buffy still shook her head repeatedly. "Darla wanted to feed off of you, but I forced her out of there before she could."

"So you had enough sense to leave the kid, but take your time killing the mother?!" 

"I d-didn't know---"

"It doesn't matter! It doesn't make you any less a murderer! It doesn't mean that you're some neutered dog just cause you don't flash your fangs while sober!"

"Spike, that's enough!" Buffy's said, her voice flinty and firm.

"How can you defend him? He's a vampire, and he's killed my mother, soul or not!!!" He struggled to get back onto his feet, but slipped clumsily on shaky legs. Oz and Willow grabbed him for support and inspected his battered face and body. His eyes had already ballooned into puffy dark circles and his nose, mouth and chin all formed a caked mass of blood that ran down his face.

"He looks pretty bad," Oz said quietly, turning to Buffy. "He might need stitches. I think we should take him to hospital."

Buffy stood hopelessly with Spike and the rest of her friends to the right of her in the glaring light of the Bronze's multi-colored lamps and a guilt-ridden Angel standing to her left, caught in between the shadows of the dark-lit corners. Angel's eyes pleaded with her silently and for a moment, Buffy felt the inclination to run with him, far from the Bronze, far from her friends, far from Sunnydale forever. 

"Buffy?" Angel pronounced her name softly, but it could pierce her so accurately with precision of a stake to the heart. She stared at him through tears, seeing both her boyfriend and a murderer. His face was boyish, imploring, innocent, but all she could see were the harsh ridges and facial bumps and yellow glinting eyes he wore when he sank his teeth into Spike's helpless mother and drank the life force out of her like a feral animal. 

"I-I---" She glanced fiercely between the two sides, both with faces expectant, waiting. Buffy was caught; caught in between the two worlds she wanted the most. One was the normal life of a teenage girl her age, one, which included weeknights of going to the Bronze with her friends and gossiping and studying and worrying what she would wear tomorrow to school. The other had nothing normal in it, and only centered on this vampire before her. A life lived in the darkness with monsters and demons. A life that included only living for someone already dead. Both were irrational and impossible compared to the way of life that presently claimed her. She wanted both and instead got nothing. 

"Buffy, we should go," Xander reminded her, tugging her hand gently. 

"Huh? Yeah, okay." Breaking out of the painful stare, she turned her back to Angel and followed her friends out of the Bronze. He silently watched her leave and suppressed the impulse to run after her and grab her back near him, but he only had to look at the retreating, limp form of a bloodied Spike, hanging off the arms of Buffy and Oz to remind himself why he didn't.


	8. Fears and Explanations

Chapter 8: Fears and Explanations

Buffy sat in the dank, shabby hospital lobby, decorated only by pink vinyl chairs with coral seashell upholstery and cheap framed prints with the same oceanic motif. A few random magazines, ranging in subject from _Fishing_ _Today_ to _Celebrity Haircuts_ scattered the side tables littered with Styrofoam cups of cold coffee. Hospital coffee was invariably cold, it seemed. Buffy stared down in her untouched cup and felt the same tepid coldness as she watched her reflection move and shudder with the motion of the dark brown liquid in the cup, moving in time with her shaking hands. Numb, that's what she felt.

Hospitals always tended to make her feel this way, ever since she was little and it was feeling she never enjoyed. She remembered the visits she made to her sick cousin Celia in the hospital when she was younger. The worst part was waiting in the crowded little room, swinging her legs nervously from a hard hospital chair, feeling an uncomfortable numbness fill her veins. It probably came from the feeling of apathy that always filled Buffy with deep shame whenever she made these visits. Like she was expected to worry about Celia, in solemn reflection over her cousin's unfortunate condition, but instead she fidgeted on her vinyl chair, desperate to be anywhere else, playing with the stuffed animals and dolls she loved and took comfort in. A similar feeling swept over her now, and as a mature girl, she knew the difference acutely enough to feel guilty. 

She had purposely avoided waiting with Spike and the rest in his small hospital room. She figured that besides Angel, she was the _last_ person Spike would want to see. But underneath that apparent concern was a deeper feeling of dread at the prospect of facing Spike. To see him in his bruised and battered condition would only remind her of the perpetrator of Spike's injuries.

Angel. She tried desperately to think of anyone else, but history was reliving itself and again she felt the Celia Complex. As bad as she felt for Spike or Celia, she secretly felt the impulse to run to the things that she loved, belonged to her, made her feel safe from the ugly numbing feeling of the hospital corridors. But Angel was the reason Spike was in the hospital in the first place, she reminded herself. And why his mother was dead.

"Buffy?" A soft hand nudged her shoulder and jolted her out of forbidden thoughts of Angel. She reacted by quaking a little, shocked momentarily, but relieved to see it was only Willow, worried and concerned. "Are you okay?"

She sighed tiredly. "I'm not the one you should be asking. How's Spike?"

Willow eased into a chair next to her. "He'll live. He busted his jaw some and needed a couple stitches and he'll need a cast for his arm. But he seems okay. Obviously his mouth is in working order. He already hit on one of the nurses and insulted another."

Buffy smiled faintly but it couldn't disguise the sheer fatigue and emotion she felt based on the night's events. Willow frowned as she noted a shade of sadness in her best friend's eyes. "You sure you're okay? You seemed pretty freaked out back at the Bronze."

Buffy blinked back tears as her lips stretched thinly over her mouth. "Would you believe me if I said I was fine?"

Willow gave a sympathetic smile before grasping her best friend's hand. "Not really. Doesn't really sound like you're singing the song of fine-ness to me."

Buffy sighed deeply, emitting all pretense of indifference over the current situation. "Will, I don't know what to do," she said, voice quaking as she buried her head into her hands.

"Buffy, what are you talking about, this _isn't_ you're fault."

"I know that, I know it." Buffy lifted her head and as she faced a worried Willow. "But I can't help feeling like I'm supposed to do something."

"And I'd understand why you could feel like you'd have to take some Slayer-like initiative, but this is really something that's between Giles, Spike and Angel."

"But it's not." Her voice was firm. "Spike's mother is dead. And he's stuck in a hospital. And it's all because of a vampire, the kind of the slaying variety, who _happens_ to be my boyfriend."

"Oh Buffy---"

"And that's not the worst part." Tears began to re-glisten in her eyes. "The worst part of all of this mess is . . . he did it with a soul. A soul, Willow." 

"Buffy! Angel didn't mean any of this! This all happened nearly eight years ago!"

"That doesn't matter. Spike was right. A soul doesn't change who---_what_ Angel is."

"Buffy, you may think you're the only one to know the distress of loving a male part-man, part beast, but I've been in similar situations with Oz and I know enough not to put the weight of the world on my shoulders." Willow looked Buffy deep in the eyes as she firmly tried to reassure her.

"It's not the same, Willow. When Oz turns, he's no longer a creature with a soul. He's only a feral animal, driven by the urge to kill, and only for those three days out of the month. Angel . . ." She paused and shook her head vacuously. "I've tried so hard to separate the monster from the man, Willow. I've tried so hard to just _deal_ with this weirdness I call a relationship. I always deluded myself into thinking he wasn't a vampire, that he had no demon left in him, even when all the signs were telling me that it wasn't true. But now I can't. The lines are too blurred. He'll always have the monster in him."

"You're wrong. Buffy, Angel killed---" Even Willow had to concede to a grimace while saying it. "—Did this years before he even met you. He's changed now, and Darla is long gone."

"But don't you see Willow? It doesn't matter. It wasn't a changed man who beat Spike into oblivion tonight. It was a vampire with a soul. A soul that didn't stop him from feeding off Spike's mother."

"But Buffy---"

"And Spike was right. Why would he leave Spike alone and take his time feeding on his mother? He had at least some comprehension of what he was doing, even if he _was_ drugged. But he did it anyway. And I know he didn't mean to, and I know that he feels guilt, but the another part of me is saying that it makes sense for him to do what he did . . . because of what he is, because it's part of his nature and he can't change that. And I don't know what to do about it." Buffy's voice broke and upon hearing it, Willow reached over and grasped her into a firm hug.

"Girls?"

Willow and Buffy turned to face a weary Giles whose face seemed gray with worry. Both jumped into his arms as he tiredly dispensed hug. "I came as soon as I heard. How are you girls? Not hurt are you?" he anxiously asked after they surfaced from the embrace. 

"We're not hurt," said Willow with struggled brightness, but her alacrity faded. "Not us at least."

Giles nodded knowingly and collapsed into a chair. "I knew this would happen, I just knew it."

Buffy and Willow exchanged surprise looks. "Knew what, Giles?"

"That William would somehow insinuate himself into some kind of recklessness before the week was over." He looked over to the girls with firmness. "Now I want you to tell my honestly and truthfully." Again, the girls exchanged looks, this time nervous and apprehensive. "Was it a bar brawl? A run-in with bookies, no doubt?" Giles' face now shone with extreme worry. "God lord, does he owe money to some hoodlum gangster? Does he owe them _my_ money??"

"Umm, not exactly. Giles it---"

"Or did he fall into the company of some unsavory miscreants perhaps? Now I don't want you girls to worry, I know you both had nothing to do with what happened tonight so don't feel at all uneasy to tell me. You would not be 'snitching' on William to inform me of his misconduct." 

Oh boy. Buffy straightened in her seat as she gathered the strength to face Giles. "Well . . . Giles, it's a long story actually . . ."

Some shaky descriptions and uncomfortable twenty minutes later, Giles sat hunched over in his waiting room chair, his brows furrowed menacingly over his gleaming glasses. Hardly moving, he held his hands tightly together under his chin and seemed to be taking painfully slow breaths. "Now tell me again," he was saying in pronounced and strained slow tones, a hint of anger lurking beneath. "You had knowledge of this situation for awhile now and did not come to me at once with this information?"

"Well Spike didn't want you to know and we only found out about the Angel thing tonight," Willow protested.

"Well you bloody well shouldn't have taken the advice of a reckless young teenage boy over the concerns of his father!!" Giles exploded, whipping off his glasses as he sprang from his chair.

"Spike thought it was for the best, and besides, we didn't think it was our place. And you were the one who hasn't even told him that you're a watcher!" 

"You thought it not your place?! You knew that he was placing himself into fatal danger every night and you felt it not your place?! I disclosed my identity as a watcher with the intent to tell him when ready. He, on the other hand was hiding this from me in hopes of getting away with near-suicide missions. Now he's stuck in a hospital because you felt not inclined to tell me of my own son's activities!!"

Buffy winced at the sound of Giles' castigation. She had never seen him so angry before and silently wished she was anywhere but here. "Giles, we didn't know how to tell you, we didn't think that this would happen---" 

Giles' eyes flashed fire as he stared at Buffy and it was the same look of extreme anger and disbelief she had seen in Spike's disgusted eyes earlier that night. "The very fact that you did not come to me with this sooner only severely saddens and disappoints me. I'm your watcher Buffy, there can be no disclosure between us, especially when it deals with _my son_, _my life_. Now he's suffered from a situation that could have been prevented if only you had come to me." With that he abruptly and angrily exited the room as he left in search of Spike's room, leaving a shaken Buffy and worried Willow.

"Wow, I've never seen him so angry," Willow whispered.

"He's right, this is all my fault, I should have told him, I should have," Buffy was saying, shaking her head to and fro. Willow sighed in frustration.

"Buffy, come off it! This isn't your fault. We had no idea something like this would happen, who could have guessed it? This situation _does_ smack of the Shakespearean-like proportions, and no guilt on anyone's part can make up for that." Willow spoke with uncharacteristic assertiveness, and urged Buffy up from her seat. "Giles isn't really mad at you, he's just got a severe case of the grumpies. Having a son land himself in the hospital can really do that y'know." She struggled an impish grin. "Now I want you to go home, get some rest, I'll deal with curmudgeonly Giles and the rest. Just go home and try to ease the Joan-of-Arc complex down. Might I suggest a pint of ice cream and some old Johnny Depp movies to aid the process?"

Buffy gave her best friend a small smile. "Okay. I'm going." She suddenly looked wistfully down the hall. "Just---will you tell him I'm sorry?"

Willow cocked her head quizzically. "Which one? Spike or Giles?"

Buffy's eyes began to water once more. "Both."


	9. Consequences

AN: Hurrah that FanFiction.Net is finally working for me again! Here's the new chapter. A little B/A drama for those shippers, but don't despair Spuffers, you never now what's up my sleeve next! 

Chapter 9: Consequences

Buffy winced as she gingerly opened the front door in an effort to avoid any attention drawn to her as she entered the house. Peering over her shoulder, she saw the downstairs was empty with only the kitchen light that was usually left on glaring down the hallway. Breathing a sigh of relief, she was about to make her way up the stairs when an unruly head popped out from the dining room. 

"Buffy? Home late again? Awww, I'm telling _Mom_!" A small girl grinned mischievously as she grasped some cookies, some pieces already in her mouth, some spilling onto her fluffy sheep-printed pajamas. Buffy gave her a steely glare.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed, ever-annoying one?" she hissed, motioning her sister to lower her voice.

"Got hungry, a midnight snack. Emphasis on _midnight_, which as I remember, is past your curfew." Her sister responded by sticking her tongue out at her.

"God, nosy much? Why don't you mind your own business and go to bed? And wipe those crumbs from off your shirt, it's driving me crazy."

Dawn looked down at her cookie-laden shirt and shrugged. "So what'd you do tonight?" she asked eagerly, ignoring venomous looks of vexation directed at her from her sister.

"Nothing, Dawn. At least nothing you have to be concerned about."

"No really what did you do?" 

"NOTHING."

"No really." Only an eleven-year old would have the ungodly patience to keep this game up. Buffy turned sharply from the stairs to glare down at the impish girl.

"I engaged in highly illegal acts that involved underage drinking and PG-13 language. Now are you happy? To BED!" She resumed clunking her way up the stairs. Dawn remained smiling mischievously at the end of the staircase.

"Really? So you're weren't busy _slaying vampires_?"

Buffy whirled around slowly, eyebrows flying high and chin jutted out carefully. Her sister had crossed herself into dangerous territory. "_What_ did you just say?" 

"Mmmm . . . nothing," Dawn smartly answered as she began to march up the stairs. Buffy pounded her hand into the opposite wall, obstructing Dawn from going completely upstairs. 

"Dawn . . ." Buffy glared at her sister dangerously and spoke in low threatening tones. "What . . . did . . . you . . . say?"

Dawn shrugged. "You know, you and you're brain-dead imaginary toothy friends who are all 'I vill suck your vlaad!'" She made a face, sticking her canines out and laughed before calming down again. "Even I don't believe in vampires any more! Wow, are you dumb!"

Buffy glanced up the hall and noticed the door to her room was slightly open. She pursed her lips in restrained anger. "You've been reading my diary again, haven't you?"

Dawn grinned fiercely as she began to skip up the stairs again. "Maybe."

Buffy grabbed her arm and spun her sister back to her so they were face-to-face. "You're cruising for an emphatic butt-kicking, you know that, Missy?"

Dawn wrenched her arm away. "Well it's not like you try all that hard to hide it! Geez, you hardly gave me anything to search for at all last time! It was under your mattress, as usual. Takes all the fun out of it . . . well okay, maybe _half_ the fun . . ."

"Dawn, if you come into my room _once_ _more_ I will have Mom officially notified of all your cookie-jar pilfering from now on." At the sound of that, Dawn straightened self-righteously and donned a challenging air. 

"Oh yeah? Then maybe I'll tell her all about how you're seeing that college guy behind her back!"

Buffy placed her hands on hips. "What college guy?"

Dawn shrugged restlessly. "I dunno . . . the guy with the weird name . . . Ansel . . . no, Angel. Yeah, that's it, Angel!"

Buffy involuntarily straightened. Not the name she felt like hearing. Not the person she felt like being reminded of. Her stomach curled into a heavy ball at the utterance of his name. "Another tidbit you scrounged from all your diary snooping, I guess?" she asked quietly, looking down at her hands.

"Uh-huh. And don't think Mom's not going to be majorly pissed when she hears about it."

Buffy looked to her sister with new fire. "Mom is not going to hear about it, because there's nothing to tell, do you hear me?"

"But you said in your diary---" 

"Nothing! It meant nothing. It was all a part of my imagination, okay? There is no Angel, there never was an Angel, and most of all there is no _Me and Angel_! You got that?!" Dawn opened her mouth to protest further, but Buffy had already reached for the doorknob of her room and sank into it, door slamming violently. Buffy sighed, not bothering to turn on the lights in her room as she slumped against the door. She heard Dawn fidget outside for a few moments, then goose-step her way back to her room, which was punctuated by the thunderous clap of her door. Buffy relaxed a bit and threw off her jacket, aiming for her bed, but jumped when she realized it moved when it hit the mattress. A figure sitting on the bed threw it aside and rose slowly. Trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness, she instinctively grabbed the stake in her pocket and held it in her hand, ready. She gingerly edged toward the shadowy person on the balls of her heels. The figure jumped towards her, and she lunged forward, aiming the stake for the unknown stranger's chest. Just then a pool of moonlight flooded the windows and cast a milky shadow on the stranger's pale face. Dark brooding brown eyes peered down at her from under heavy-knit, furrowed eyebrows. Angel.

She was just as startled when she recognized him in the darkness as she was when she became first aware of his presence. He was holding onto her slight arms and after a burning stare down into her eyes, he glanced down at the stake she was holding. Carefully he eased it out of her hands.

"A-Angel. W-what are you doing here?" She felt electric and fatal in his arms, standing so close to something that was cold, yet was providing heat in her veins, something that existed as the living undead, but made her want to die. He was also aware of their close proximity to each other and for a moment they both paused and seemed on the brink of eternal silence and hurt as they both glanced down at each other's lips. Angel let go of Buffy and backed away a few paces.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just jumped at you like that----"

"Why are you here?" Buffy repeated, her voice tinged with pleading.

Angel sighed an unnecessary breath and slumped visibly. "I wanted to see . . . I wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm not the one you should be worried about," Buffy replied softly.

Angel stared at her gingerly and intensely. "But you are." He sighed again and began pacing the room. "How's Spike?" This time he avoided her glance.

Buffy sighed. "A couple broken bones, but nothing life-threatening. So he'll live." _Not his mother though,_ she unconsciously added to herself. Angel understood what she was not saying and maintained awkward silence for what seemed to be hours longer than a few minutes. Finally they both spoke at the same time.

"Buffy---"

"Angel---"

They both shared an irrelevant, nervous laugh and fidgeted where they stood. Angel sank down into a chair. "Y-you go," he urged her, motioning a hand towards her. 

"No," she shook her head graciously and awkwardly. "I-it's okay. W-what were you going to say?"

Angel shrugged, and now given the chance to say something, he felt at a loss to do so. He only cupped his face in his hands and rose from the chair and sat down again multiple times. Buffy felt inclined to stake him for merely making her so nervous. Finally he turned fully to her and straightened. "I don't know how to fix this Buffy."

She fell silent for a few moments and looked at him earnestly. "No one's asking you to."

But Angel had already worked himself into fit of agitation. "Aren't they? Aren't you?"

Her eyes widened. "What? No! I never--"

"You say you don't but I can tell. I can tell by the way you talk to me and the way you look at me and the way you touch me. This has changed things. And I heard what you said to Dawn outside just now."

"Angel! I just said that because Dawn's _eleven_ and I don't want her knowing those type of things!"

"No, I know that, it's just . . . when you were saying it . . . that there was no you and me . . . part of you wanted to believe that, didn't you?"

Buffy paused and bit her lip, but once again, Angel managed to find a way to pierce a glance into her eyes and already find the answer lying there. A tear trickled down the cleft of her cheek, but she tried brushing it off. "Suppose, it's true," she whispered. "Suppose I did want to believe it." Angel had been expecting the answer, but it crushed him nonetheless and he sank back into the chair. "Suppose I happen to want to believe that this whole thing never happened. That my boyfriend isn't some former serial killer who's responsible for the death of one of my friends' mother."

"Buffy . . . you know I didn't mean to . . . that I was a different person back then . . ."

"Not a person. A vampire." Buffy's eyes shone with fierce honesty now that things were out in the open. "And how are you so sure?"

"Buffy! I was drugged! I have no comprehension of what---"

"But you did! You had to have some comprehension of what you were doing, because why else would you not feed off of Spike? It's true isn't it? It's true that if you didn't have a soul, you would have fed off of him right?"

Angel shook his head. "I don't know---"

"Don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself." Buffy's teeth were resolutely in place and her voice was firm. "If you didn't have a soul . . . you would have fed off of him." It was more an affirming declaration than a question. Angel sighed and nodded his head rigidly.

"Yes," he said softly.

"Yes," Buffy echoed. "But you didn't feed off of him. You're conscience was still telling you not to. So you fed off the mother instead."

"No! It wasn't like that! I told you I didn't mean for it to happen!"

"But it did! And you don't know what would happen if you were caught in a similar situation!"

"Yes I would," Angel spat through squared teeth. "Everything's different now."

"What? What's so different? You're still a vampire with a soul aren't you? You have been for eighty years now." Buffy stepped back from him and surveyed him wonderingly. "A vampire with a soul," she repeated. "You know, for so long, I always thought the soul part of the equation negated the vampire part. Like with a soul, you practically were human---"

"I practically am."

Buffy shook her head. "No, you're not. I wanted to believe that, but it's not true. Tonight just proved that. A soul doesn't erase the monster part of you, nothing will. You'll always have that feral part of you inside."

Angel almost visibly shrunk at her words. "So what do you want me to do about it? Stop being a vampire?" He asked angrily as he resumed pacing about.

Buffy looked down at the carpet defeatedly. "I want . . . I think what you should do is stay away from me."

Angel straightened and whipped his head up painfully. "Is that . . . is that what you really want?"

Buffy choked back tears. _Is that what I want? Of course not! I would never want that; I would never----_ "Yes," she lied quietly. 

Angel nodded with pained understanding. "For how long?"

"I don't know. I guess until I can figure some things out." Buffy looked back up at him again and for a moment, both could tell that everything she had just said was a big lie. But it was a necessary lie. Angel once again nodded and unconsciously moved towards her, but she just backed away. Awkwardly, he halted and both of them just gazed at their shoes and each other alternatively until Angel neared the window and slipped out of it into the night. Slowly Buffy approached it later and strained her eyes to see if she could catch a glimpse of his shadowy retreating figure, but he was apparently already engulfed by the prevailing darkness. She sighed and slumped over into bed where she buried her head into a pillow and proceeded to saturate it with over-spilt tears.

Angel sighed as he entered his small apartment, dank and deafeningly empty. That's what its usual state was, but on this particular evening, it especially got to Angel, who regarded the whole place with contempt and loneliness. A usually subdued vamp, he felt ragingly restless tonight and took it out on his kitchen table, which he dumped over with a roar. Breathing heavily, he willed himself to calm down, but his mind was overcome and pervaded by ugly thoughts of past. The terrified gaze of a young mother as he sank his fangs into the soft lily-white crook or her neck . . . the distraught face of a screaming son, tears streaming down his pudgy cheeks . . . the glinting and malicious smile Darla gave him through a horrifyingly distorted face when he threw the limp body to the ground . . . the slack and battered face of Spike as his head hung heavily from his shoulders . . . the stricken and tear-streaked face of Buffy as she demanded her to stay away from him . . . He mashed his hands to his skull, as if he was trying to physically squeeze the ugliness from it. Still breathing erratically, he lurched over to the fridge to grab a blood pack in hopes that it would pacify himself. 

Suddenly he heard a slight sound and jumped. It had not been that alarming, something like a small 'clunk', but at this time of night, Angel remained always on guard. He cautiously sniffed around for any sign of foreign presence. Sensing nothing, he turned back to his pig's blood.

He shouldn't have thought too soon. The front door suddenly broke through with a violent force, planks of wood splintering into pieces as a leg kicked through the threshold. Thrusting the door aside, Giles stood at the entrance with an adamant look on his face and a crossbow in his arms, aimed right for Angel. 


	10. Exits

AN: I was intending for this to be half of one long chapter, but it didn't work out that way. So consider this kind of "Chapter 10A" and I'll have the next part of the fic up real soon : )

Chapter 10: Exits 

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't stake you," Giles said slowly and fiercely as he peered at a stiff Angel from over his glasses.

Angel maintained a calm and apathetic expression. "I'll give you a reason. Buffy."

"And I'll give you two reasons why I _should_. My son and his mother."

Angel sighed and hung his head, an involuntary response whenever anyone brought up the subject at present. "I'm sorry for any pain I caused your family---" he tried to say lamely. 

"Pain?!" exploded Giles. "You're apologizing for 'any pain'?! As if that term properly expresses all the damage you've done to my family!"

"Giles---"

"Quiet!" He adjusted the crossbow carefully so that it was precisely in the range of Angel's heart. "I don't think you're in any position to be rationalizing your actions. It's a little late." Giles' eyes flashed a quiet fire, the kind that brimmed with untapped danger and was much hotter than it looked. 

"It's true," Angel quietly conceded. "I can't begin to explain what I did, not when I can't fully understand it myself."

Giles nodded slowly. "That being said, I don't see much that's separating you from the end of this stake."

Angel just gazed at him icily and blankly. "You're the one who's just buying time. You could have staked me the moment you knocked in the door."

"I have all the reason to. You kill my son's mother, leading him onto a path of hoodlum delinquency and violence----"

"That is _not_ my fault," Angel interrupted, jaws tensing suddenly.

"Whose fault is it that my son is lying in a hospital bed?!" Giles yelled, his arm whipping down and the crossbow with it. A look of guilt passed over Angel's face as he ducked his head while Giles neared him with slow, deliberate steps.

Angel brought his head wearily back up to face Giles. "I never meant . . . everything got out of hand----"

"I think I've had enough of hearing about your intentions. It's been made painfully clear that your intentions are not to be trusted. What I want to know now is what you're going to do."

Angel cocked his head with surprise. "You're not going to kill me then."

Giles maintained his stonily menacing expression. "I kill you and I devastate Buffy." Just when Angel began to visibly relax, Giles spoke up again. "BUT . . . I don't kill you then I risk losing my son."

"I wouldn't do anything to----"

"Again, I don't think I'm inclined to believe any of your promises." Giles was bringing the crossbow up to chest-level again and Angel eyed it with cautiousness.

"Buffy told me to stay away from her, from all of you----"

"It's not enough. You stay and Spike will undoubtedly seek you and try to avenge his mother's death. Are you prepared to say that you wouldn't try to protect yourself is it came to that?"

Angel's lips tightened and he struggled to lie, if it meant that he could stay in Sunnydale, somewhere, anywhere near Buffy. But honesty was intrinsic to him, much like his vampiric nature. He cursed both traits at the moment. "I would," he murmured quietly. 

"Right. And him being an impulsive seventeen year-old boy and you a centuries old vampire with super-human strength, it wouldn't be much of a question of who would prevail in that prizefight, would it?" 

Angel's whole body slumped despairingly. "So what do you want me to do?" he asked in the same slightly pleading tone he used when asking the same question to Buffy earlier. However, he already expected what Giles' answer would be.

"I want you to leave town," Giles said softly and firmly. 

"When?"

Giles looked around the sparse apartment. "What's stopping you from leaving right now?"

Angel looked at him carefully and dangerously. "You know what is."

"Ahh, yes." Giles leaned down to prop up the thrown-over kitchen table, placing his crossbow down and seating himself at it as he began wiping his glasses. "Buffy."

"Yeah. Buffy."

"She herself asked you to say away from her didn't she?"

"She didn't ask me to leave town. You're asking me to leave, without telling her, without even telling her when I'm going to see her again----"

"I'm in no rush for you to EVER see Buffy again," Giles interrupted as he straightened in his chair. "I don't intend for you to ever to return to Sunnydale."

"That's not your decision to make," Angel snarled.

"Do you love Buffy?" Giles asked abruptly, his head cocked as if he was asking in pure curiosity. Angel was taken aback by the sudden question and pursed his lips momentarily.

"You know I do," he replied, almost whispered.

"Then you would understand the notion of 'unselfish love wouldn't you? You'd want what's best for Buffy. Much like I'd want what's best for William. On my part, I think I'm being most unselfish." Giles placed his glasses back upon his brow and stared at Angel up over them. "Because there is nothing better I would want than to see your existence diminished to a pile of dust." Giles got up from the chair and began to pace the room slowly. "You see, Buffy is an extraordinary girl who's been handed an enormous burden for a calling. She spends most of her life in either my library or the cemetery. She knows far too much about death and darkness than any human should ever have to face. She should be spending her time shopping, dilly-dallying with her friends, fixating on entirely silly young schoolboys who aren't worth a second thought, enduring the normal trials and tribulations of any sixteen year-old girl. She deserves that much." Giles paused and gazed at Angel in a sort of sad and quiet way.

"Instead," he continued, "She falls in love with one who has nothing to offer her except more darkness instead of lightening the burden. She'll never have the pleasure of an afternoon walk with you, will she Angel? She'll never be able to hold your hand and feel the sunshine on her face and know that you'll be able to take her to the matinee and for a burger and fries afterwards. And she's worth more than that."

Angel's whole body was tensing with every word of truth Giles uttered. It was true, all of it. Did Giles not realize that these thoughts were with him, painful and clear every time he was with Buffy, soaking her in with love and despair because he knew all this to be true? He knew how selfish he was being to her daily, to let her go on with her schoolgirl fancies and affections, but he had never experienced anything like her before and instead compensated by saying he wasn't what he really was, that two centuries of slaughter and violence were completely erased by this little blonde sixteen-year old. But how could he not be aware of it? He didn't just know it, he _felt_ it, every time she smiled dazzlingly at him or softly brushed her hand against his in a sort of unintended embrace. He would look at her and secretly wish he hated her, just so she would get what she really deserved. His greatest wish was the ability to let her go. He looked back to Giles wearily who nodded knowingly.

"You have to leave Sunnydale, Angel."


	11. Entrances

Chapter 11: Entrances

"But what if he's still mad?" Buffy whimpered as Willow pushed her closer to the door of Giles' condo. It had been three days since the whole mess with Angel and Spike at the Bronze. Buffy was now attempting to visit Giles, albeit a little nervously, since she was unaware whether Giles' anger towards herself had passed. Willow tried to be flippant with her best friend's concerns.

"Pfft, you know he's probably not. Come on, he's _British_. He's probably making with the whole stiff-upper-lip and Mother Country stoicism."

"Well from when I last saw him, he seemed to have that whole good ol' American _rage_ thing down pat," said Buffy as she wrinkled her nose, frowning.

"Yeah but Giles----" Willow's train of thought suddenly was interrupted when she and Buffy became increasingly aware of the thunderous crunch of death metal rock muffled from inside Giles' apartment. They could practically feel the violent thrashing of the electric bass, as it seemed the whole condo complex seemed to rumble in time with the beat. The girls exchanged confused glances.

"What the . . . ?" Willow urgently and worriedly pounded on Giles' door now, lest he had been attacked by a horde of heavily tattooed biker gang-members, who had locked him in his bathroom and proceeded to rip apart his house in a mad spirit of partying and drunkenness. Just as Buffy was about to kick in the door with similar panic, a ruffled and disheveled Giles thrust open the door, allowing a storm of deafening and crunching metal music out into the courtyard, forcing the girls to smash their hands to their ears.

"What IS that?" Willow yelled over the din. Giles wearily motioned them both in, which were invitations that Buffy and Willow were a bit hesitant to accept.

"Yeah, I would have figured your taste in music would _precede_ the Metallica era . . . y'know, some rockin' little ditties written by 17th century dead white guys with violins," Buffy pointed out, still wincing from the screeching feedback of the music. 

"Well it bloody well isn't _my_ music," Giles sighed, reaching down for his Scotch bottle. "It's some of Spike's. Since he's refusing to talk to me, he's translating his adolescent dissatisfaction by blasting rubbish at ungodly volumes. All the neighbors have been complaining."

"Well how are _you_ dealing with it?" Willow asked, hands still muffling her ears.

"I find a great deal of alcohol helps," Giles said almost cheerily, as he downed a glass. Suddenly becoming aware of both girls' stoic glances, he hiccuped and sighed. "I'm afraid I'm not very experienced in how to deal with such situations."

"Well I'm pretty sure the loss of your long-term hearing wouldn't help," Buffy said, alternatively trying to find ways with her hands and ears that would block out the most sound.

"He's been playing that music for----well I'm not sure _how_ long, the hours have seemed to have all melted together into one endless stream of hoarse screaming and non-sensical heavy metal gibberish." Giles rubbed his forehead in the spirit of extreme vexation. "Spike, will you PLEASE turn the music down?!" He called up towards Spike's room pleadingly.

"Sod off!" was the irate reply from upstairs.

Giles sighed. "Well I suppose it can't be helped. Ever since I took him home from the hospital, he's been like this."

Willow's eyes widened. "D-did you talk to h-him? About, you know . . ." Willow glanced worriedly at Buffy, who had suddenly turned sullen now that they're were discussing the topic at hand, and mouthed "A-N-G-E-L" to spare her. Buffy laughed an abrupt, mirthless laugh.

"Willow, please! You don't have to treat me like a piece of glass, I'm not tearing myself up about it, am I?" But there was a flash of pain behind her eyes that seemed to say otherwise. Giles saw it and suddenly felt a pang of guilt, remembering how he had driven Angel to the bus depot and nearly had to force him onto a bus.

_"Where will you go?" Giles asked quietly. "Not that I'm concerned one way or another."_

Angel looked at him intensely with his trademark burning brown eyes as he prepared to board the Greyhound. "I've existed on my own nearly eighty years before coming to Sunnydale. I'll find somewhere. I'll survive."

Giles nodded, but wondered if, without Buffy, that suddenly became not so true anymore. He also wondered why he cared.

"Giles?" Buffy tried to shake him out his thoughts.

"Huh? Oh . . ." It had not been Buffy, but the incessant noise emanating from Spike's room that had brought him back to life. Giles sighed and took off his glasses to clean them. "Oh yes, now what was it you girls wanted to see me about?" 

Buffy twitched slightly, but Willow, with her eternal spirit of irrelevant enthusiasm, jumped towards Giles. "Giles, would you please tell Buffy here that you are in NO WAY angry at her?"

"Willow!" Buffy elbowed her for her forthrightness. She cast a guilty and timid glance towards Giles. "I d-didn't think you were MAD mad, I just---"

Giles smiled tiredly and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm not upset with you in the least, Buffy. I fully realize that none of what happened was your fault." 

Buffy relaxed and brightened. "Well y'know, I felt I should apologize for not coming to you right away about Spike---"

Giles shook his head, cutting her off. "I understand why you did what you did. In a similar situation, I would have been equally torn. I'm just at a loss of what do now with Spike and his recklessness."

Willow and Buffy feebly glanced upstairs to the source of all the ruckus and frowned when they thought of the fuming young teen behind the door. 

"Spike . . . I was kind of . . . well I was kind of hoping that I could see him." Buffy twisted her hands nervously despite her steely Slayer lot. Giles face lit up with recognition. 

"Oh yes, well um, just let me . . ." Giles turned to his desk drawer and withdrew a key. Puzzled, Willow and Buffy followed him upstairs as he began to unlock Spike's bedroom door.

"You've _locked_ him in?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"I had no other alternative." Giles mumbled exasperatedly as he struggled with the lock.

"You really _don't_ know squat about teenagers do you?" Buffy hissed. "King of all rules, _don't lock the kids in_. Especially kids like Spike. You confine and bottle up high pressure like that, it keeps building and building, until you get something that makes Mount Vesuvius pale in comparison."

"Again, I had no choice. The moment he got home, he tried to keep slipping out, despite all his injuries. And I know he had the intention of seeking out . . ." Giles paused and Buffy paled when they both understood that no one in particular wanted to talk about THAT subject at the moment. "Anyway," he recovered quickly, "I had to ensure that he wouldn't get himself into another kamikaze mission. I suppose the music is his way of just thanking me for the favor."

Buffy nodded knowingly as Giles gingerly opened the door. A large, heavy object went flying and Buffy, Willow and Giles were forced to duck. Giles recovered and popped his head through the door cautiously. "Umm, William, y-you have visitors."

"I thought I told you to _sod off_!" An infuriated voice stated. "That bloody well wasn't a welcoming gift!" Buffy slowly peeked her head into the messy room and surveyed Spike struggling with the window, trying desperately to open it. There was a duffel bag that had been stuffed with a number of weapons, bottles of holy water and stakes on the bed. Despite the number of bandages Spike was swaddled in, and the sling confining his arm, he was wrastling with the window violently. When seeing the still-glaring bruises and cuts that covered his face, Buffy suddenly understood why Giles felt forced to resort to imprisoning his own son. 

"Spike," Giles sighed as he went to turn down the music on Spike's stereo. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

Spike whirled around, enraged at his father. "You even bolted the bloody windows?!"

"Well the very fact you even thought you could slip out of a second story window in your condition only confirms my reasons for doing so."

Spike scowled and landed floppily on the bed. "For being such a bloody awful excuse for a dad, you make an excellent prison warden," he snarled.

"Thank you Spike. Now why don't you greet our guests?"

"Hey Spike," Buffy made her presence known as perkily as she could, but upon seeing her, Spike only darkened even more at a furious rate.

"You. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Spike!" Giles gave him a parental glare.

"We're just here to visit you," Willow said, entering the room brightly, bearing a basket. "And umm, here, w-we made you Get-Well cookies!" She offered him the basket with a smile. Spike softened a bit and accepted the cookies. 

"Thanks Red. Nice to see you." He veered his head towards Buffy. "Not _you_ though. You can get the bloody hell out of here." 

"Spike--"

"No, it's okay Giles." Buffy held up and hand at a disapproving Giles and plastered a fake, bright smile. Spike maintained a poisonous glare towards her, but she turned to Giles and Willow. "Umm, why don't you guys go downstairs for a bit? I kind of wanted to talk to Spike alone."

Giles' eyes widened and Spike rose from his bed in disagreement. "Excuse me Blondie, but whoever said I wanted to talk to you? I just told you to get the fuck out."

"Buffy, perhaps--"

"No, don't worry about it, it's okay." Buffy smiled and continued to shoo Giles and Willow out of the room. After the two left, albeit very hesitantly, Buffy turned to Spike, who was glaring at her, and took a deep breath. "Look, I know I'm the _last _person you would want to see---"

"Oh yeah? And why would that be? Maybe cause you went and told Ol' Rupes all about my vampire hunting gig, thus leaving me to be locked in my room to rot? Yeah, why would that bother me at all?"

Buffy cast a pointed look. "There were dire circumstances."

"Yeah, except you promised, you _bitch_. But no, you just _had_ to go a skitterin' to Pops as fast as you could and tell him all about it didn't you?"

"Well SORRY, but I considered you landing in the hospital constituted as 'dire circumstances'!"

"And whose fault was it that I landed in the hospital?" Spike spat at her cockily. "Whose boyfriend beat the shit out of me in the first place?" Buffy fell silent with guilt immediately.

"I'm trying to apologize here," Buffy said quietly.

"Yeah, thanks. I feel loads better. Maybe if I wasn't stuck captive in m'room with a couple a' broken ribs and a friggin' fractured collarbone, I'd feel good enough to take you out for a cup a' Joe and a chat." His eyes narrowed into slits and his voice oozed with hostile sarcasm. 

"Look, what do you want me to do? I can't help what . . ." she paused and tried to say the name, but it didn't seem to get past the sudden lump forming in her throat, "_he_ did . . . if I had known . . . about any of this . . . I would have never let you meet him."

Spike straightened. "Oh don't apologize for that, Slayer. Now that I know where he is, it'll be pretty easy to track him down and make dust bunnies of him."

Buffy glared at him and tensed. "That's _not_ going to happen, Spike."

"And why not?"

"B-because, because . . ." her mind raced, trying to find an explanation that wouldn't indicate how much feeling she still had for the vampire in question. "Because you would only kill yourself trying."

Spike laughed dryly and humorlessly. "I _am_ a vampire hunter, ducks. I do know how stake a vampire or two."

"Angel's more than two centuries old. He's been around the block more than a couple times. He's not your average stakeable. What makes you think you could take him on?"

"What makes you think I couldn't?"

"Well looking at those two shiners on your pretty little mug offers pretty compelling evidence."

"Are you just afraid that I could?" Spike asked, carefully noting how Buffy's composure suddenly changed from confident to guarded. "That's it, isn't it?" he prodded on. "All _you're_ afraid of is losing your boyfriend. You don't care who the fuck suffers or who he hurts, as long as he gets to stay your cuddle monkey."

Buffy eyed him, wounded. "Shut up," she whispered.

"That's a compelling argument you got there yourself, Blondie. Here you are, pretending to be little Miss Concerned-for-Your-Safety, making with the gracious apologies and whatnot, but secretly all you care about is Soul-Boy and when you can snog him next."

"What do you want from me Spike?" Buffy asked pleadingly, thinking that somehow this question would shut him up, get him off her back, stop him from saying anything else about Angel.

"What do I want? What do I _want_? I want to be with m'friends in London at my favorite pub. I want to be up and about, doing what I do best: dusting vampires. I want to wake up and see my mum smiling at me like the last eight years have been one big joke. I want freedom from this bloody hellhole, I want----" his eyes suddenly gleamed as he gazed past Buffy and spotted the door open. "_Freedom,"_ he whispered, grabbing the duffel bag from off his bed and pushing past Buffy before she could realize what he was doing.

With Spike bounding down the stairs, Giles and Willow looked up from their cataloging of old texts they were immersed in. "What the hell---" Giles started. Struggling to keep Spike from running out the door, which he was barreling for, he grabbed Spike's arm and was rewarded with Spike punching him out of the way. Buffy ran down the stairs, trying to catch him as well and Willow dropped all her books in alarm.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know Giles, he just ran past me," Buffy was blubbering towards Giles who was clutching his head in pain.

"I'm blowing this sorry pit stop!" Spike declared triumphantly. "And there's nothing any one of you pissants can do about it!" Thrusting open the door, he prepared to rush into the night, but nearly collided with two bodies about to knock. "_Shit,_" he whined when he realized his exit was blocked. "Why does that happen EVERY time?" He glared fiercely at the two visitors, but his expression soon changed into one of shock when he recognized who they were.

"Is that any way to treat an old chum, mate?" a distinctly rough British voice said, mixed with amusement and familiarity. A young man that looked a few years over twenty stood framed in the door, his arm lazily hanging off a slight young girl about Spike's age. The man had lank, shoulder-length, brown hair, a five o' clock shadow of a goatee and was smiling smugly, as was the girl. The girl was extremely pale, her complexion only made more distinct by her raven-black long hair, large, glittering eyes and heavy red and black makeup. She was dressed in a fashion foreign to the valley-girl stylings of Sunnydale; a long burgundy lace dress with a black satin corset over it, accented by pointy black military-style, lace-up boots, all which culminated into an outfit that brought to Buffy's mind only two words: _Goth Princess_. Spike seemed to have been struck speechless, something that Buffy had never seen before and regarded with confusion. He just stared at couple with awe and amazement, his mouth hanging open, much to suspense of the rest of the occupants of the room. Suddenly he shook his head, as if he was struggling to wake up from a dream and broke into an ardent grin. His attentions were especially placed on the girl. "Drusilla?" he whispered in disbelief.

The girl leaned against the frame of the door and gave him a wicked grin and wink. "'Ello pet," she crooned.


	12. Things Suddenly Get a Whole Lot More Con...

AN: Woo-hoo, another chapter all ready and posted for you guys. I'm on a roll! Guess I'm chock full of literary inspiration, but don't think I can keep this up with a new chapter nearly every day. I'll try though ; )

Chapter 12: Things Suddenly Get a Whole Lot More Confusing

Before any of the confused observers could inquire as to what was going on, Spike whooped loudly, threw down his duffel bag and lunged towards the girl, lifting her up in his arms and showering her with kisses and other profuse signs of affection. _Well_, thought Buffy, startled. _Certainly wasn't expecting** that**_. She immediately found the scene distasteful and above all, mystifying. Spike? Associated with signs of affection? This must have been defying all fates of the cosmos. She frowned along with Giles when watching this confounding display. 

The girl was squealing with pleasure, her arms thrown around Spike's neck, legs dangling in mid-air as she returned his kisses with equal fervor. He swung her around the room, both of them chuckling with ebullient laughter. Spike gazed at her, still in amazement. "Drusilla, baby, I can't believe you're _here_," he breathed in a soft voice Buffy had never heard him use before. For some reason, it bothered her just as much, if not more, as his regularly caustic tone. Spike had let Drusilla down and looked to her partner with equal excitement. "And Munitz! You bloody, wonderful bastard, how the hell are you?! W-what are you doing here?!" He attacked the man in a crushing, manly hug that involved a number of grunts and much backslapping. The man grinned intensely as they both parted. 

"What do you think, mate? I'm here to visit _you_! I finally managed to wrench out of that old baggage you call a grandmum details on where you bloody were. And since me and the missus were wantin' a release from the London fog, a visit to the States, and some fun in the sun, we figured, hell, we might was well go to the place that had it all, not to mention our favorite rabble-rouser." He scruffled Spike's hair messily in a brotherly embrace. 

Spike was still overcome with elation, babbling jubilantly. "But y-you . . . I mean, how d-did you---h-how's everyone? S-Smithy, Peterson, Benny, Rob, Arab, Blade, Tom--"

"William!" Giles stepped forward, interrupting the joyous reunion as he eyed the two newcomers suspiciously. Both certainly looked well acquainted with the street life of London. Munitz was dressed in old leather and black, a sort of taller version of Spike without the bleached blonde hair and reminded Giles of some of _his_ old mates during his "Ripper" days. He immediately distrusted him. "Umm, w-why don't you introduce us to your, um, friends?"

"Huh? Oh." Spike was brought back down from his euphoria momentarily. He sighed carelessly towards his father and breezed through introductions. "Umm, allow me to introduce Munitz and his sister, Drusilla. Munitz, Drusilla, that's Rupert."

"His father," Giles corrected and leaned forward for a courteous shake. Munitz nearly ripped off his arm and shortly turned back to Spike.

"Your dad?" Whistling, he eyed him up and down. "He's rather stiff and upper, in't he? Looks like he's got a good bit a'treacle behind the ears. Wouldn't imagine _you_ came from _that_." 

"Ehhemm." Giles frowned maddeningly, interrupting. "Uhh…Munitz is it? How is it that you're acquainted with my son?"

"Oh we go way back. We're both in the . . ." Suddenly, with some forethought he paused. "Umm . . . in the same band," he finished with a shrug of the shoulders. Giles saw right through it. 

"Aha. I see."

Spike abruptly slapped Munitz on the back before Giles, in all seriousness, brought down the mood completely. "Yup, we were in the same band. This bloke plays a killer lead guitar. Rips it up, he does. Taught me the tricks a' the trade. And this lovely goddess---" he turned now to Drusilla and put an adoring hand to her pale face. "Would show up to all our gigs, our most loyal fan. She'd come firstly as support for her brother, but later as I'd come to know her better, she and I---" he blushed as he lay down the history of his and Drusilla's relationship. "Well, let's just say, by that time I had my own personal groupie." He winked to no one in particular and snaked one arm around Drusilla as she sighed with contentment. 

"I missed you so much luv," she said, simpering and saccharine-like. Spike pulled closer to her.

"If it's as _half_ as much as I missed you, baby . . ." Spike purred, spooning into Drusilla's arms. Buffy nearly gagged at the sight. Annoying, hostile, perverse Spike was bad enough; sweet, puppy-loving Spike was repulsive.

"I wanted you to come with me and Miss Edith to a tea party in the park," Drusilla was mumbling in a lilting, singsong voice as she drew circles on Spike's chest. "But you weren't there to hear the music in m'head as the horsies went off to play down Kingsbury Row." Spike responded to her Dada-esque remarks by merely nuzzling her forehead. Buffy and Willow exchanged utterly confused looks.

"Miss Edith?" Buffy interjected puzzledly.

"Her doll," Spike supplied, still nuzzling. 

"Huh . . . not exactly the most linear girl on the block, is she?" Willow whispered to Buffy, who nodded in agreement.

"Where are you stayin' pet? Spike still retained his hushed voice as he smiled towards Drusilla. 

"The Sunnydale Motor Inn," Munitz cut in.

"That pile a'piss?" Spike was incensed. "No bloody way, you're stayin' _here_."

"Ahhh, William, perhaps---" Giles was up and started, dismayed at this new prospect.

Spike gave an incredulous look to his father. "You're not gonna let my best mate and my girl stay in that squalid hellhole, are you?"

Giles pursed his lips. "I thought you were preparing for a departure yourself."

Spike shrugged his shoulders restlessly. "Was gonna, but now, not so much. Didn't have any money anyway. Wasn't a good plan besides, didn't think it through." He turned back to Munitz and Drusilla. "So it's settled! You and Munitz are welcome houseguests here!"

"Wonderful!" Munitz was fast catching on. "I'll just take the master suite, and I'll be set." Giles cleared his throat meaningfully and Munitz grinned puckishly. "Just joshin' you, mate." Before Giles could brighten, he continued. "I can take the couch. It's closer to the bar anyway. Glad to see you keep it well stocked. Hope the larder is too, cause oi, am I ravenous. You don't happen to have Weetabix here in the States, do you?"

Giles rubbed his forehead again and tried to put it as politely as he could. "I-I really d-don't think it would be a good idea t-to---" 

"You could sleep in _my_ room with me," Spike was saying softly to Drusilla with a smile. Giles straightened.

"I bloody well think not! Drusilla may have your room, but you're bunking down here with Munitz!"

Spike gave him a sour face, but happily grinned at both the new houseguests. Giles suddenly realized what he inadvertedly agreed to and inwardly groaned. Willow and Buffy both had the epiphany that they were in over their heads.

"Ummm, well, we'll just leave you all to getting settled . . ." Buffy said uncomfortably, backing away towards the exit with Willow. Munitz perked up when he became aware of her presence. 

"'Ello, ello," he piped up, giving Buffy an appreciative look up and down. "Who's Miss Hollywood?"

Buffy recoiled and cringed. "Okay, umm, _eww_," she quipped, unsuccessfully disguising her repulsion. 

Spike, still tangled in Drusilla's arms turned to Buffy, and resorted back to his scathing attitude when referring to her. "Oh her. Never mind her, she's just a dumb blonde."

"Hey!" Buffy made a jump towards Spike, her fist instinctively flying up in regular Slayer stance. Willow tugged on it and eased her away from the scene.

"Ummm, i-it was nice meeting you all," Willow was saying with her usual generic politeness as she dragged Buffy out the door. "I-I hope you have a good stay in Sunnydale." With that, she and Buffy nearly ran out the door, which Spike slammed after them with relish. Out on the doorstep, Willow sighed with relief before glancing over at Buffy. "Is it just me, or did things suddenly just get a whole lot more confusing?"

Buffy alternated her gaze from her best friend to the door behind which the recent dysfunctional scene had taken place. She raised her eyebrows. "Oh yeah," she affirmed as they both walked away. 

Another Author's Note: Okay, okay, before you guys go up in arms, flame me, or worse yet, stop reading the fic altogether, let me clarify one thing: this is NOT a S/D fic. I only threw in Drusilla to muck things up and she does indeed have a purpose in the plot (as you will see later), so please stomach the S/D mushiness for a little while longer. And both Spuffers and Bangels (is that the right term? lol): let me just say that I am not done with EITHER ONE of these ships. I know I've barely even touched B/S (which should give you a clue that I'm gonna), and as for B/A, I'm nowhere NEAR done with all of that. Looks like this could be a wild card, folks. Still trying to make you sweat and guess how this one is gonna turn out. So stay tuned and hold on tight, 'cause it's gonna be a bumpy ride ; ) 


	13. City of Angel's

Chapter 13: City of Angel's  
  
The winter month of February was always overwhelmingly warm in Los Angeles, a never-ending testament to the sort of freakish and curious nature that characterized the city. This was the home to misfits from all over the country. Starstruck, ambitious, misguided, oddball, beautiful, corrupted, naïve, superficial, existentially despaired and aimless souls all resided here, making one wonder how this place could ever be nicknamed "The City of Angels".  
  
Speaking of aimless souls, one such straggler was roaming the back alleyways of a Los Angeles blood bank, searching in the dumpsters for an uncleaned container, a pack of spoiled blood, any remnants of sustenance he could find. To any observer, this man was the saddest case of human survival; a person desperately hanging off of the bottom rungs of society, but somehow, always falling short. Someone who even put the homeless to shame. He sighed frustratedly, drawing his head from the dumpster, throwing the heavy bin over with brutish desperation. He glanced soberly around at his surroundings and down at himself, a sad excuse for a human being. Except he wasn't human.  
  
His usually sturdy frame had been reduced to a frail mockery of what he used to be. His face was paler than it ever had been, a frightening canvas of ghostly white stretched over weary bones. His hair was greasy, lank, and fell short from the usual on-end shock of hair it usually was. His black clothes were tattered, hanging off his body in shreds---a sad end to what had before been a spotless Hugo Boss suit.  
  
He had chosen this city for the anonymity. He knew, in the entire world, if you had no place to go, you could come here. A sort of unwelcoming hospice for freaks, losers, outcasts, pariahs, he figured he would feel at home here. Wrong. He should have remembered he felt at home nowhere. He was one-of-a-kind in all the world, he could never feel anonymous, even when he visually blended into the crowd of other social lepers.  
  
He remembered existing like this once; the streets of Manhattan, not unlike this, he prowled about in sewers and alleyways, accepting his fate as the penultimate nothing---a thing that existed not as a human, not as a demon, therefore solidifying his out-of-place role in the universe. He told himself daily that his suffering and his pain had no point----he was nothing, insignificant---no one would ever care the trials he went through, not when he had spent nearly two centuries casting scourges of cruelty upon helpless innocents. He was paying the price for being one of the most infamous deviants in Europe; his name was uttered and feared by millions----now no one cared to even learn it. He had dealt with it then, what was so different about now?   
  
Two years. Two years among eighty was enough to suddenly make him feel like he had a place in the world, that he mattered. Two years and one blonde girl gave his unlife purpose and meaning. Unaccustomed to any attention whatsoever, he was suddenly basking in it, in love and affection. Not only that, but he had something to give this girl: his aide, his support, his devotion. It almost fooled him into thinking that he had relevance to the world after all, that he could give and receive. He ragingly kicked the wall in self-desperation. Goddamn Whistler, he muttered hatefully to himself. Goddamn him for making me think there was something better . . . that I could actually become something. For giving me a taste of what could have been---no strike that, what never could have been. For making immortality seem that much longer without it . . .  
  
"Hello?" A soft voice pierced the night, cutting through the hazy noise of sirens and car alarms that circled the man's head. It was the voice of a young girl, something that he hadn't heard in weeks. He quickly veered his glance to the source of the voice.  
  
A blonde girl, somehow familiar, though obviously not. She cautiously and nervously glanced about the alley, searching its corners with a flashlight. She held a bag of trash in her hand, but had initially jumped when she first heard the noise. "Hello? I-is anyone t-there? I h-heard something. I-if anyone's there, come out now!"  
  
He blinked twice, trying to see past his dizzying hunger and overwhelming despondency. She almost looked like---but no, it couldn't be. Still he was far enough gone to fool himself into thinking it was her.  
  
"B-Buffy?" He whispered, and immediately, the flashlight shone in his direction. He could see her plainly enough to see she was indeed not the same---the difference in her facial shape, her clear, blue eyes instead of stormy hazel ones, all the signs were there indicating that this wasn't his girl. And still he imagined she was. Green eyes replaced blue ones in his mind.  
  
"Oh my god," the girl murmured as she caught sight of the stranger's pinched, pallid face. She approached him slowly, pity coloring her face. "A-are y-you sick? Are you okay?" Sympathetic tone. Only one person in the world ever spoke to him this way. It only deluded him further into his mirage. He reached his hand out, trying to touch the girl desperately, grasp onto the air around her. At that, she backed away slightly. "Y-you are, aren't you? Y-you're sick . . ." Her gaze this time was mixed with apprehension and disgust. She had got a better look at him and frowned at his tattered clothes and slovenly appearance. And he was still reaching out to her, imploring her for her touch.  
  
"Buffy? B-Buffy, is that you?" he was still muttering nonsensically. She suddenly got a glimpse of half-eaten blood packs at his feet, trash littering the space around him. She saw that his hands were matted and dirty, and covered with blood from clawing through the garbage can, rummaging his way through discarded syringes and needles. She understood now. He was a thing, not a sick helpless man, but a thing. A dirty thing. She gazed at him critically, repelled now.  
  
"You aren't supposed to be here," she snarled.  
  
The stranger looked as though he had been slapped in the face. "Wha----Buffy--"  
  
He was obviously high, psychotic or brain-dead. "I'm not Buffy, or whoever you're mumbling out," the girl stated harshly, glaring accusingly at him. "You're crazy. You don't belong here, you're nothing."  
  
He ground his hands to his skull. "No . . . n-no it's not true---"  
  
"Get out of here!" she spat at him, shining the flashlight full on in his face, blinding him for a second. He hissed, so shell-shocked now that his demon visage was rising, turning his brown eyes to slitted glinting yellow ones and his smooth, pale face monstrously disfigured. The girl watched in horror as he morphed into the truly dirty thing he was and began to back away. Finally, she threw down her flashlight and bags she was clutching onto and screamed, a horrible, frightening sound that filled his ears with despair. A hundred years ago, a terrified shriek like this would have been his siren song, a beautiful sound he would have relished as much as musical note. Now it just filled him with dread and odium for himself.  
  
The girl was scrambled away from him, running back into  
the light, leaving him to soak in the darkness. And suddenly it wasn't enough for him anymore. He got off his feet and stumbled out of the pitch-black alleyway.  
  
He could barely see where he was walking, all the lights, colors, people meshed into one stream of blurry color, every voice, call, siren and car alarm becoming indistinct and hazy. He never noticed the disgusted strangers who gave him disapproving looks as he limped past them down the dirty sidewalk. All he could distinguish from the chaotic cloud of people and noise and lights in front of him were blonde heads. Every blonde girl that past him suddenly made him die inside, because he always mistook them for one singular blonde girl, one who was the only one in the world for him, one who felt like she was a world away. He saw her face everywhere, floating above the rest of the crowd, smiling at him teasingly, laughing at him with a soft tinkling laugh that made him want to grab the mirage before him, touch it, savor her if she was real. He tried that once, but was rewarded with an infuriated blonde woman smacking him upside the head with her massive purse. "Goddamn druggies!" she yelled.  
  
I can't do this, he was frantically muttering to himself. I can't. I can't live like this, there's nothing for me, absolutely nothing . . .  
  
He was unconsciously stalking the streets now, almost forgetting that his place was in the shadows as he walked aimlessly under the sleazy, neon lights of thisL.Aneighborhood. Suddenly, a little item in a pawnshop caught it his eye and he halted. Pressing his hands up to the glass, he gazed at it longingly from where it sat studded in a little black box. It didn't look that expensive, he had seen a dozen rings like it before, but somehow, he now wanted it so desperately he was ready to raid the store in a fury for it. From behind the window, he saw a nervous and anxious man staring back at him, already guessing his motives by his scraggly appearance. He glowered back at the man and walked into the shop.  
  
  
  
Thirty minutes later, Angel walked out of the pawnshop, leaving an unconscious shopkeeper lying amidst a ravaged shop in his wake. He had a box containing a claddagh ring in his hand, and enough money in his pocket for one train ticket back to Sunnydale. 


	14. Happy Birthday Buffy

Chapter 14: Happy Birthday Buffy

"_Soooo_!" Willow leaned over and gave Buffy an aggressive nudge with her shoulder.

Buffy gazed at her best friend, amused. "So . . . what?" she said, one eyebrow cocked.

"Day of birth. The big one-seven. A large stepping-stone in any adolescent's young life, the day you are officially allowed into R-rated movies. No sneaking past any hapless movie ushers for you! A day of celebration all around!" Willow was nearly bouncing off the bench with glowing excitement and for a moment, Buffy wondered who's birthday it actually was----hers or Willow's. 

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Willow frowned, a disappointed little crinkle forming between her brows. "Buffy . . . aren't you excited? I-it's your birthday, a time of rejoicing, reminiscing, looking to the future . . . and cake."

Buffy laughed slightly but quickly looked down at her hands. "I am Willow, it's just . . . I've got some heavy stuff on my mind." Willow understood and her face fell into sympathetic-best-friend mode. 

"Angel?"

Buffy glanced up again, breathing a long drawn-out sigh. "As usual. What other heaviness would I be thinking about? Saving the world and defeating the forces of darkness seem like small-talk fodder in comparison." She somberly picked at her school bag in discomfort. "It's been three weeks," she said, softer now. 

"Three weeks since you've seen him? But isn't that what you wanted?"

"Well no----I mean yes----I mean no!" She threw up her hands in frustration. "I don't know what I want Willow. I mean, I thought it was for the best that I didn't see him and he didn't see me, especially with Spike around and everything but . . . it's so hard. You can't just turn off feelings like that." Guilt began coloring her face slightly, and again she ducked her head. "I went to see him the other night."

Willow's eyes widened. "You did? What happened?"

"Nothing happened. He wasn't there. His apartment was just . . . empty. Okay, it's always empty, his idea of minimalism décor but . . . it looked like he hadn't been there for days. And Willow---" her face was pinched with fear now. "The door was smashed in. What if he---"

"What if nothing. This is Angel we're talking about. Big bad vampire? No way would some low-life thief just break in and take on Angel. He can take care of himself---"

"Not a thief I was talking about, Will," Buffy said, looking at Willow meaningfully. She lit up with recognition.

"Oh . . . o-oh you mean Spike? O-or Giles?" She pondered this for a second, growing a little more understanding of Buffy's concerns. She shook her head uncertainly. "They wouldn't do that. Okay, Spike would. But Spike is . . . otherwise engaged." She made a face, indicating that 'otherwise engaged' was the term for Spike and Drusilla's relationship, which included abundant signs of public affection and thoroughly sickened all bystanders. "But Giles wouldn't," Willow continued hurriedly. "You know he wouldn't."

Buffy's stared at Willow seriously and cautiously, her eyes glittering. "I do? Face it Willow, Giles was put in a pretty . . . un-Gilesy situation. Who knows what he could have done out of anger?"

"Well you saw him a couple of days after! He seemed fine. Not a big walking ball of vampire staking rage. Besides, he wouldn't keep something like that from you, he knows how much Angel means to you."

Buffy sighed. "I feel like I should be talking in the past tense. Angel _meant_ something to me." Her face was colored with faint tinges of sadness. "And now he's gone." 

"Who's gone?" Xander approached them with Oz in his usual jovial manner, clapping his hands together briskly. Willow could see that Buffy wanted to change the subject, so she feigned a careless smile. 

"Oh nobody. So hey guys, guess whose big day it is!" Willow leaped up, again alive with birthday cheer. Xander broke into a grin, sharing his friend's overexcited mood.

"That's right! I almost forgot, Ms. Summers turns seventeen today!" He straightened. "And you know what's the tradition, don't ya? The time-honored rite of birthday spanking! You don't want to break with tradition! And I can assist in the non-breaking!" Xander's face went comically expectant. Buffy grinned at her friend's buffoonery.

"Then I guess I can't break with my tradition of kicking ass of any attempt-ers of the aforementioned tradition." Xander's face fell. He backed away with speed.

"Right well, tradition is such an overrated thing anyway."

"So Buffy," Oz spoke up. "Birthday bash tonight at the Bronze, right? A hoot with a little dash of nanny?"

"Yeah I guess. Just us right? I'd like just a little get-together, nothing big. Giles and Ms. Calendar are coming, which already takes over for the lack-of-cool factor, but that's it. I don't want any more guests." Willow twitched guiltily as Buffy said these words, prompting looks of consternation from the birthday gal. Willow tried to muster up an explanation helplessly. 

"Not that _many _more---"

"_Willoooow_. . . how many more?"

"Just two."

Buffy groaned, already knowing which two she meant. "Willow, _please_ tell me you didn't---"

"I couldn't help it!" exclaimed Willow. "With Giles coming, he told me I couldn't leave out Spike! He wants to keep him included. A-and with Spike comes----"

"Drusilla," Buffy finished for her grimly.

Xander made a face. "Drusilla . . . is it just me, or is that girl just a little too . . . 'Witchy Woman' for anyone's tastes? 'Cause, y'know . . . she's got that . . . 'thing'. You know the thing."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah that 'thing'. That 'thing' being I have no clue what she's talking about most of the time. And there's nothing to her, just dolls and Spike, and dolls and Spike."

"Look, I know Dru is a little . . . eccentric," Willow said generously. "But she's nice and Spike seems to be permanently attached to her at the hip, so it can't be helped."

"And we're dying for Spike's presence because . . . ?"

Willow frowned disapprovingly. "Buffy! I thought you were okay with Spike now. It's been awhile, you said you gotten used to him. Hey, even Dawn likes him!"

"Ugh, don't remind me," Buffy grumbled as she thought of her sister's fixation for Spike.

__

He had come over to Buffy's house, begrudgingly delivering a book from Giles. As usual, he had handed to her with a hostile air, and looked over his shoulder while doing it, as if he was ignoring her while she was standing right in front him. Dawn had bounded down the stairs and immediately made her presence known. "Who are you?" she asked rudely.

"Dawn!" Buffy tried to shush her threateningly. 

Spike looked down at her, amused. "My name's Spike. What's yours?"

"Dawn. Spike. That's a funny name."

"I'm a funny person." He leaned down and did the old quarter-out-the ear trick and held out the shiny quarter out to her. "See? Funny."

Dawn made a face, giving off the impression that she was much too blasé for such childish things. "That's a stupid old trick. I've seen it done a million times before."

Spike was taken aback by her assertive air. "A smart lil' nibblet you are, aren't you," he said, smiling. 

She again made a face and giggled. "Nibblet? What a weird thing to say."

"Oh you think I'm weird, do you?"

"No," she smiled widely, her eyes bright. "I think you're nice." Buffy heard that and groaned, knowing the Spike crush-age had begun. 

"Don't get me started about Dawn liking Spike," Buffy repeated. 

"Well we still have to invite him. Giles asked that he was, he really wants Spike to make more . . . normal friends."

"So he dumps his son into the laps of a slayer and her demon-fighting cronies?" Buffy sighed. "Fine, whatever. Whoever wants to come can. It looks like this will be the best birthday ever . . ."

" . . . Happy birthday, dear Buffy, happy birthday to you! Yay!" Willow joyfully threw a handful of ribbons and confetti in the air, showering Buffy where she was seated at a table in the Bronze, surrounded by her friends. Spike was loitering a few feet away, whispering something to a giggly Drusilla. "Blow out the candles, make a wish!"

Buffy felt like a fool in this cone birthday hat Willow had forced her to don and she eyed the blazing candles despondently. _Not likely to come true,_ she thought. _Unless **he** suddenly showed up out of the middle of nowhere, which isn't likely to happen. I just wish I knew where he was-------_

"Buffy!" Willow cried, interrupting her thoughts. "Come on birthday gal, make with the wishes!" Buffy forced a grin at Willow and looked back towards the cake. Closing her eyes, she blew out all the candles in one gust, prompting all to burst into applause. She feigned a gracious smile as everyone, including a reluctant Spike and an indifferent Drusilla, wished her a happy birthday. Willow rushed into a corner and came back, bearing gifts. "Okay it's prezzie time," she announced gleefully, and a mad storm of ripped paper and discarded ribbons and bows proceeded.

She hadn't done too bad this year, present-wise. Willow had gotten her a sweater (the one she had been making nose smudges on the windows of Nordstrom's for), Oz had given her a few CDs he knew she liked ("a little something from the Estrogen side of my music collection," he had said), Xander had given her a necklace, as well as the gag gift of edible panties (which Buffy threw back at him with the evil eye), Ms. Calendar had given her a pair of earrings (dangly ones, engraved with the symbol of her family's Gypsy clan) and Giles had given her a set of centering and healing crystals and an antique, illustrated volume of the _Legend of the Slayers_ (pretty, but glaring reminders of her obligations). "Thank you so much, she said, appreciatively, lost in a sea of colored paper. Suddenly, an unusually subdued Spike appeared, with much nudging by his father, bearing a gift of his own.

"Umm, you forgot one," he mumbled, throwing the box carelessly on the table. 

Buffy stared at him in surprise. "You . . . you didn't have to do this, Spike."

Spike tried to shrug flippantly, as if he was even trying to deny he had given a gift. "S'nothing. Just had some stuff lying about the house, figured you'd probably do better with it than me."

"Oh." Buffy was less surprised now. Still, a present from Spike was shock enough. No one could make the mistake, however, that it was a present from Spike, as it was encased in a shoe box, messily wrapped in newspaper and held together by what appeared to be butcher's twine. But when she opened it, she couldn't help but emit a gasp. "Oh wow, this is . . . it's beautiful." 

It was a stake made out of bright red wood, glossy and shiny and intricately carved with details of dragons and knights and ornate leaves and flowers on it. The wood itself was knobby and wavy-looking, give the carvings a more impressive air. She looked up from the present to Spike, amazed. "Thank you so much," she whispered.

"Yeah well . . . I whittled it m'self, it's my lucky stake and all."

Buffy was even more astounded. "You're giving me your lucky stake?"

"Well it's just a sodding piece a'wood. It's doesn't mean nothin'. I'm not one for superstition anyway." He rubbed the back of his neck frantically and gazed at the stake uneasily. "But hell, if you don't bloody well like it you can give it back---" He held his hand out, unsuccessful in disclosing his anxious desire not to part with it.

"No!" Buffy automatically held the stake to her chest, still marveling it. "I mean, I love it . . . it's just . . . I can't believe you would give me something that meant so much to . . . that you worked so hard on."

"It was a very generous thing to do," Giles told Spike, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. Spike glowered at him and shrugged him off.

"Sod off, you were the prat who ordered me to give it to her! Doing clean-up and inventory of all my hunting supplies and such!" he yelled. Giles shook his head, indicating that a birthday party was a time that called for tact, but Spike glanced back at Buffy, angry to part with possession. For a moment it looked like Spike was about to demand the return of the stake, but he looked at Buffy in the eyes, stormy blue ones tangling with somber green ones. He suddenly detected a note of sadness there, as if he knew that maybe Buffy needed all the cheering-up she could get on this day. He was surprised that he even cared, but his face softened. He cleared his throat. "Well um, anyway . . . yeah, just make sure you take care of it," he said, less caustically. "And um, just to let you know . . . its name is Mr. Pointy."

Buffy laughed truly for the first time that evening. "It has a _name_?"

"Well you work damned hard on something, you sometimes feel inclined to give it a name. Y'know . . . fruit of your loins and that sort. Anyway . . . just enjoy it will you? Try not to break it or splinter it in some damned beastie's chest?" 

Buffy nodded, serious this time, seeing something in his eyes that was gentler than usual. "Thanks Spike. I will." He nodded back at her awkwardly and shuffled away, back to Drusilla.

"You give away Mr. Pointy?" Buffy could hear Drusilla whining to Spike. "That was Miss Edith's favorite playmate!" She was stamping her foot like a petulant child as Spike tried to mollify her. "And I thought I you carved that specially for me! The black orchid carvings----that's MY flower!"

"Look ducks, I _had_ to. It was the git's birthday and all----"

"But I thought that stake was you're most prized possession-----besides me, that is!" she added skittishly.

"Baby, it was just a piece of wood. And besides, the girl's havin' a crummy birthday in the first place, look. She doesn't deserve that." He gazed back at her while Drusilla gave an indifferent scowl. Buffy was pretending not to hear them, instead focusing intently on the empty space in front of her. She was slightly smiling at Spike's words though. Spike, of all people, acknowledging what everyone else failed to see this evening and showing her a sign of kindness. Spike! And kindness! In the same sentence! It was enough to garner another true smile from Buffy for the second time this evening. "I mean, even dumb blondes deserve a good birthday," Spike added. Her mouth flattened back into a line quickly. Of course. Couldn't count on that boy for more than seven seconds of decency. She turned quickly, despite her show of pretending to not listen, and meet briefly with Spike's eyes. Again, a soft, uncharacteristic look was there, in spite of what he just send. She softened and found his brief look comforting, and at the same time unsettling, as if it was impossible to stay angry if you really looked at Spike. For an unintentional moment, she almost forgot she was even staring at Spike, she was so absorbed in the glance, as he seemed to be. So she hurriedly broke the gaze and Spike walked with Drusilla out to the dance floor. 

Buffy sighed, absently playing with a stray piece of birthday ribbon as she sat, hands cradling her head disconsolately. Here she was, the girl of the hour, sitting alone in the Bronze looking as if her dog had been run over. She scanned the club for her friends, undoubtedly having a much better time than she was. Looking to her left, she saw Giles and Ms. Calendar conversing and laughing quietly over two cups of steaming lattes. To her right, Willow and Oz were cozied up on the couch, whispering and smiling softly at each other. In front of her, Spike and Drusilla were on the dance floor, slow dancing. Even Xander was halfway marching on the Couples Parade as he was struggling to mack on a girl near the pool table who only looked mildly disgusted. 

"Seventeen, and already I'm hopelessly alone," she mumbled fretfully to herself, her face curling into a frown. _What if it stays this way? What if I've already met who I'm supposed to be with and I just let him get away? _Her face went aghast as she pondered the most horrifying thought. _What if I die a virgin?! . . . Should I just save years of heartache and become a nun **now**? _A sudden shake of the shoulder was enough to draw her out of her thoughts. 

"Buffy, you okay?" Willow, as usual. Her face was full concern, but Buffy got up agitatedly from her chair. 

"Ummm, actually I'm not feeling good," she said, donning a sickly, downcast face as she began rubbing her stomach in pseudo pain. "Must be something I ate. I-I think I'm just gonna jet."

Willow shook her head furiously with dismay. "Buffy! You can't leave! I-it's your birthday party, you can't leave your own birthday party. W-we're having so much fun!"

Buffy wondered how blind with best-friend enthusiasm Willow must have been, because it had been painfully clear just exactly how much fun she _wasn't _having. "I know," she lied instead. "It's a great party, it's just . . . I'm just not feeling so good, okay?" She said it sharper than intended and Willow was a bit taken aback.

"Well o-okay, if you really aren't feeling so good, just call me tomorrow and----"

But Buffy had already turned away and was rushing towards to the door. 

She didn't go home. Instead she was here, stepping over cracked lumber and ravaged splinters of wood as she crossed through the thresh hold. She stopped and peered across the blank room, taking a teary sigh. Brushing the tears from her cheeks, she took a step into the room, edging near the sparse bed. Reaching down with one hand, she smoothed down the rumpled sheets wistfully, as if she was trying to get the essence of the one who used to sleep here from them. Shaking and weary, she carefully lowered herself onto the bed and wrapped herself in the blankets, noting how everything enveloping her still carried his distinctive scent. But then a strangled grunt and a sudden noise made her spring up and glance around the room quickly. She stopped when her eye caught a raggedy, bruised, hopelessly filthy figure standing in the doorway. His hair was dangling in his brown eyes that seemed filled with pain. And her heart skipped a beat and she gasped with unnecessary quickness.

"Oh my God. Angel."


	15. Innocence Lost and Surprise Revisited

Chapter 15: Innocence Lost, Surprise Revisited

Coughing violently, Angel stumbled into the door, his eyes fluttering helplessly from fatigue and hunger. Buffy rushed out of the bed and to his side, wrapping her arms around him and catching him before he could fall into an exhausted heap on the ground. "Oh God, oh God," she kept muttering as she surveyed him with wide eyes. "Oh God, what happened Angel?"

Angel looked up at her shakily; his head bobbing like it was too heavy for the rest of his frail body to support. He struggled to mouth words to her, but instead, he just keeled over from weakness. Buffy brought him to his feet and leveled his weight----much lighter than she remembered---onto her shoulders as she dragged him to his bed. As he lay writhing, she retrieved a pack of pig's blood from his fridge and returned to his side, holding up his head as he began to voraciously gulp down the red elixir. Buffy sat, astounded and terrified to see him in such a state. He was attacking the pack like he hadn't eaten for days, and his appearance certainly supported that theory. As soon as he finished, he sighed and looked back up at Buffy. "Thank you," was all he could murmur.

A tear fell from Buffy's cheek to his hand, which was grasping hers. She wanted to respond with a gush of questions and answers, she wanted to ask him where he was and how he got like this and how he could have left her and why did he. She wanted to scream these questions, let go of all the pain and hurt and confusion she had felt for the past three weeks and now presently. But instead she just nodded. "Let's get you washed up," she whispered softly.

They had gotten Angel out of the filthy rags he wore, and Buffy had waited while he took a shower and changed into cleaner clothes. He almost looked as if nothing had changed as he donned a pair of usual spotless pants and somehow got his hair to go back to the on-end shock it used to be. But they both knew that behind it all, something was different, horribly and painfully. And it seemed like it suddenly made everything they did, every casual and brief absent touch between their fingers, or an awkward glance into each other's eyes seem more dangerous. So they just sat in silence on his bed while Buffy attended to the bruises and cuts on his bare chest. But finally Angel broke the gut-wrenching silence.

"It's your birthday today," he said softly.

Buffy looked at him with pained eyes, but she tried keeping it light and concentrating at the task at hand. "Yeah, it is," she murmured, still dabbing his chest with gauze.

He was visibly struggling to make small talk. As if they ever were good at small talk. "Was it good?"

"What?"

"Your birthday."

Buffy twitched her lips. She couldn't tell him how excruciatingly un-good her birthday was, and that he was the main cause for it. "It was alright, I guess."

He knew she was lying. "Did you get a lot of gifts?"

She brightened weakly. "Yeah, actually I did . . . I got a lot of great stuff, even Spike gave me something----" Her voice faded and she turned downcast when she realized that Spike was the last person they should have been talking about.

He paused, aware of the slip and straightened uncomfortably. A few minutes of silence as he pondered what to say next. Finally he motioned to his tattered jacket lying strewn over the table. "I, umm, got you a present too."

Buffy stared at him, shocked. He was obviously somewhere off starving to death and wasting away into desperate oblivion and all he cared about was remembering her birthday. "Angel, you didn't have to----"

He kept nodding towards the jacket. "Just look in the left hand coat pocket."

She obeyed, getting up and searching the pocket until she withdrew a small black box. Flipping it open, she gave a little gasp as she viewed the shining little ring sitting in it. "It's beautiful," she said, sitting back next to him. 

"It's a claddagh ring," he explained quietly. "A Celtic symbol of my people. The two hands sharing one heart. It means----well it should be pretty obvious what it means."

She gazed up from the ring to Angel and had begun crying softly again. "Thank you Angel," she whispered. 

"Try it on," he directed, taking the ring from the box and slipping it onto one of her fingers. "If you put it on with the hands directed towards you, that means you have someone," he murmured. He was putting the hands so they directed her. It was enough to finally break her from self-imposed restraint. 

"God, Angel, why did you come back?" she finally pleaded, not caring to draw her hand from his. "W-why did you come back just to give me this?"

He gazed guiltily at his hands. "I don't know Buffy," he said with a hint of despair in his voice. "I . . . I tried so hard to stay away from you, but there was nothing for me, I couldn't take it, I just had to see you, I can't help it that I love you so much----" Buffy's eyes widened, a wave of strange calmness washing over her. It was the first time he had said those three little words most important to any girls' heart, and she felt everything around her stop. So she shut him up by smashing her lips to his in a long kiss. Startled, he backed away slightly, looking at her with slight panic. "Buffy-----," was all he said with caution in his voice. 

Grinning with tears in her eyes, she pressed a finger to his lip and shook her head. Slowly she kissed him again, and this time he didn't relent. He kissed her back and they sank backwards into the bed. 

_She was dreaming. Too clear to be one of those hazy, meaningless dreams that flutter through your mind in stages of restlessly light sleep. This seemed real, a scene ripped out of clarity and consciousness. She was standing in the graveyard with Angel by her side. Their hands were grasped, the silver claddagh ring winking in the moonlight. And again she felt the tranquil calmness as before as she looked up and smiled at him. His boyish face was beaming back at her, but suddenly, he dropped her hand and the ring fell slowly into the soft grass. Confused, she stared down at it and looked back to Angel for some kind of explanation. But his loving face had already transformed and the yellow eyes glinted in the shadowy darkness. Before she could gasp with horror and raise her hand with stake poised and ready, he grabbed her and gave her a long kiss so that she could feel his fangs through his mouth. He released her and smiled devilishly. "I'm back in town, baby," he said in a foreign voice full of mockery. "And I have you to thank for it." _

Buffy couldn't make out what he meant, she only felt a mind-numbing fear for this demon in front of her, one who had replaced her boyfriend so completely. She sank her arm down, aiming for his chest, but suddenly he had disappeared, the vision of him dissipating into darkness. And instead, her stake landed in the chest of a shocked boy whose blue eyes were wide with pain. Spike. Horrified, she withdrew the stake from his chest quickly, but it was too late. Spike was dead and lying at her feet in a pool of blood. Turning around in terror, she again saw Angel to her right, still grinning perniciously. He nodded down at Spike's limp form. "He has you to thank for that too," he murmured, smiling now wider than before. 

Suddenly awake, she sat upright in bed, gasping painfully, wiping the sweat from her anxious brow. _It_ _was just a dream, just a dream_, she thought, still with panic. She gulped slowly, trying to ease herself down, but automatically, her arm went to the other side of the bed for comfort. Grasping nothing but air, she worriedly sat up. Through the night's shadows, she saw nothing beside her but rumpled sheets, still carrying the imprint of one's body. Disturbed, she brought the bed sheets to her chest and searched the room for any other presence. But she was alone. Where was Angel?

Drusilla was unused to walking home herself, despite her London street upbringing. She always had a mate to accompany her, someone who Munitz always commanded to take her home. London streets were too dangerous for a lady like her to be ambling about alone, her brother repeatedly said. She was secretly always relieved. She was never one to take care of herself. She always had Munitz or Spike to do that for her. But tonight, both her caretakers had insisted on going off and getting drunk together somewhere, leaving her to fend for herself. Munitz reasoned that a town with a name like Sunnydale was nothing to be afraid of, and Spike was already much too drunk to point out otherwise. And it's not as if anyone else from the party would offer to walk with her home; she rather disliked this Buffy girl's mates, they all seemed insipid, and most of all, they thought _she_ was strange as well. So she assured her brother and her boyfriend that she'd probably be just fine, it was a short walk from here to Giles' condo and that she'd be alright by herself. 

But now she was beginning to get nervous. She had crossed out of the neighborhoods with the friendly porch and streetlights. She was in some sort of alleyway and she was confused as to where she was headed. And she was always jumping at each sound, each small snap or cricket's chirp. So she walked a little faster, her teeth on edge. Suddenly she heard the soft clack of male footsteps behind her and she nearly screamed as she turned around. A man, silhouetted in the shadows walked gingerly towards her. His pale face seemed full of concern and his brown eyes shone kindly. "Are you alright?" he asked, nearing her. "You shouldn't be walking all alone this time of night."

She smiled a little, relieved but still a little jarred. This man didn't seem like the harm that she feared. "I-I know, I thought I'd be fine, but . . . it looks as though I'm rather lost."

He cocked his head sympathetically. "Oh well, we'll just have to change that, won't we? I've been a resident here for awhile, why don't I try to get you to where you're trying to go?"

She grinned widely now. "Oh would you? I'd appreciate it."

"No problem. Here, I'll even walk you the whole way there." 

And so they set off. The stranger seemed nice enough and knew exactly where it was she wanted to go. He even politely and attentively listened as Drusilla explained why she had been wandering aimlessly at this time of night. " . . . And then my brother and Spike went off to go to some pub or something---"

He suddenly stopped and held his hand up. "Wait. Did you say Spike?"

She nodded proudly. "Yeah, he's my boyfriend . . .why, do you know him?"

The stranger smiled, his smile getting broader by the moment. "Actually, yes, we go way back. I was very good friends with his mother."

She frowned puzzledly. "His mother died quite awhile ago, and you look rather young, so how is that?"

He shrugged carelessly as they continued walking. "Well our interlude together was rather brief, but I felt I got to know her pretty well . . . Anyway, enough about me, may I just stop and say that _that_ is a stunning dress?" He paused and looked down at her bright red and black, long lace dress in appreciation. 

She looked down at it shyly. "W-well thank you," she said, nodding her head gratefully. 

"It really does remind me of the fairy tale----you know, Red Riding Hood?"

She laughed a little nervously. "I don't think I know that one too well. It's an American tale isn't it?"

He frowned. "Oh I don't think so. 'Little Red Riding Hood' is really a universal story, you see. A little girl, in this brilliant red coat is lost in the woods, trying to get to her grandmother's house. And so this wolf comes along and he tries to trick her right? He tells her the long way to get to the house so he can get there first and eat the grandmother and hide in her bed so he can snack on Little Red when she comes."

Drusilla was becoming increasingly apprehensive now. She was entertaining thoughts that this stranger was a little _too_ strange---even for her. "Sounds like a rather morbid tale to tell to children," she said uneasily.

But he just paced towards her all the while, a strange look of satisfaction crossing his face. "It's actually very funny," he said, chuckling to himself, his head bobbing easily and recklessly from his neck. "Because she gets there, and there's this whole conversation between the wolf and the girl, see? She's going 'My what big eyes you have, oh what big ears you have' and so on like that. And the wolf is being clever saying 'The better to see you with or hear you with'. And you know what Little Red Riding Hood finally asks?"

She shook her head with fear, visibly frightened now and she nearly tripped herself in backing away. Her throat was parched silent and her glittering eyes were wide.

He was still laughing, his laugh growing more boisterous. Suddenly he stopped and paused, looking at her now malignantly in the eyes. He shook his head, and suddenly his smooth features where changed into something that Drusilla had seen only once and twice before, but never by herself. "My, but what big _teeth _you have," he growled.

She screamed, a long and terror-stricken scream that once more filled the stranger's ears with voluptuous joy, his siren song once more. She tried running in a full sprint from him, but she fell and struggled to get up. Suddenly, she was caught from behind, one hand lifting her up by the throat, leaving her kicking and flailing desperately. Snarling with laughter, the stranger surveyed her intently. "Really _does_ remind you of the story, doesn't it," he said, sweeping one hand down to finger the material of the red dress carefully, dragging one hand slowly across her upper leg. He winked at her as hysterical tears streamed down her face. He leaned in and inhaled the heady aroma wafting from under the pale skin of her long neck. "The better to _eat_ you with, my dear . . ." he murmured to himself before he sank his fangs through.


	16. Lovers Lost

AN: I know this chapter is kind of short (well for a major rambler like me at least!) I wanted to make this chapter longer with more stuff involved, but I'm afraid school is harkening near (ugh!) and schoolwork calls. So again, it's one of those chapters I really consider 'Chapter 15A" since this is mostly talking and not a lot of stuff going on, and I plan a lot more action. Also, notice how you guys FINALLY broke me! I planned to keep all hush-hush about the ships going on in this story, I thought it would be more suspenseful that way, but instead, I think me keeping it a secret just makes people concentrate on what they want the fic to turn out ship-wise and in turn, they just kind of ignore the plot and the story. So I'm announcing to you all this WILL be a B/S fic. However, I'm still dispersing a lot of B/A stuff here and there, since it adds conflict and tension (or at least I hope it does . . . and at least among the people reading the fic, lol). And once again, it's very long-winded. So you guys will just have to wait for the B/S ending (which will probably be in the sequels of this, which I've already got planned). Lol, I can't believed I cracked.  
  
  
  
Chapter 16: Lovers Lost  
  
Sunlight flooded the Summers' residence in a stream of brilliant bright white, flecks of dust dancing in the warm morning air. It was the kind of morning that promised a cleansing new day filled with golden opportunity. But with her back to the light invading the hall foyer, Buffy wearily entered the front door, ignoring the prospect of a new day entirely. Her heart wanted nothing to do with starting anew on a fresh dewy morning. It wanted nothing more than to constantly reply the events of last night and erase the moments of the early morning.  
  
Sighing, she leaned against the door and examined the house carefully. Funny how one night could change your whole perspective on life around you. Even this, the trusted haven of her house, looked---felt different somehow. Before, she would walk through the door, smelling the comforting aroma of baking brownies or the flowery scent of her mother's potpourri mix that she dispersed through the house and immediately feel calmed and just . . . well, at home. But no longer. The house seemed cold and foreign now. She had left her home of her lover's arms last night.  
  
Or rather, he left her. After waking up in the middle of the night to find him missing, Buffy willed herself to go back to sleep, despite the incessant worry and nagging circling her head. She tried to tell herself that Angel had only left for some absolute necessary reason . . . hunger, restlessness perhaps. Still, she would have never left the bed, even if someone tried to force her from it, so a part of her was deeply hurt when she discovered his absence. It was even worse in the morning when she awoke to find the sheets still in the same rumpled state. Angel had never come home. Her heart silently broke with that, but she knew there was no point in waiting for him, though she hesistated to leave for that very reason. What was he going to do, stroll in the door, basking in the morning sun, smiling and carrying a bag of croissants and coffee? Both worry and hurt filled her heart: worry that something had happened to him and that he was injured or worse, hurt at the prospect that he had just left her after they made love. She wasn't sure which scenario brought her less pain.  
  
Threading a tired hand through her hair, she tried making her way up the stairs as gingerly as she could, as to not bring attention to herself. She wasn't sure if her mom had noticed her absence for the whole night, but she wasn't willing to find out. Halfway up the stairs, her mother walked absently out from the dining room with Dawn.  
  
"Ahh, Buffy you're home," she said brightly, grasping a steaming cup of coffee. Dawn's face peered up at her sister mischeviously, sticky from pancake syrup.  
  
Buffy jumped slightly as she turned, wincing as she was found out. "H-hey Mom," she said with slight guilt edged into her voice. Her mind was racing furiously, trying to concoct a believable excuse for her rather tardy entry. She shrugged helplessly and opened her mouth to deliver some tripe about forgetting the time, her watch broke, the whole sense of universal time had escaped her in general. But luckily, her mother spoke first.  
  
"Did you have fun at Willow's?"  
  
Buffy tried to recover from the mixture of relief and momentary shock. "Huh?"  
  
"Willow," Joyce repeated. "I thought you were spending the night at Willow's after the party."  
  
Frantically, Buffy searched her short term memory. Had she said something about sleeping over at Willow's? As confusion colored her face briefly, she looked down absently at her sister who winked. Buffy widened her eyes, but Dawn just mouthed "You owe me" in return. Buffy heaved a sigh of relief and suddenly felt a flood of untapped love for her baby sister. "Right. Willow," she breathed with feigned casualness. "It was great, gossiping and major vegging out was had."  
  
Joyce chuckled knowingly. "If that was the case, I'm guessing that much sleeping was not. You look pretty tired. Why don't you go up to bed for awhile?"  
  
Buffy smiled wanely. "That sounds like a great idea," she replied, trudging up the stairs.  
  
Entering her room, she felt a weight heavy as Atlas's forcing her into the downy comfort of her bed. Her weary bones, mind and heart compelled her to sink into the mattress and curl into a ball. She wanted to cry, but she felt far too tired. Besides, she was all cried out. For how much longer did she have to cry to express how messed up her world had suddenly become? She just wanted to drift into the soft sanctuary of sleep and wake up somewhere close to a hundred years from now. But of course the phone had to ring just then and her mother just had to call "Buffy!"  
  
Irritated, she sat up. "Tell whoever it is I'll call them back!" she yelled back before plopping her head back into the pillows.  
  
"It's Spike, dear! And I would, but he said it was important!"  
  
Surprised, but not pleased, she frowned. Spike? What would compel Spike to ever call her? She was pretty sure Spike would have rather face death by small firearms than ever voluntarily talk to her. It must have been important. Sighing, she grabbed her phone.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Spike's voice came across smaller and thinner than she had ever heard it before. "Buffy?"  
  
"That would be me," she said carelessly, but she couldn't help straightening at Spike's unusually apprehensive tone.  
  
"Um . . . y-you wouldn't have happened to see Drusilla around have you?"  
  
Buffy paused. "No, not since last night. And I left the party early. Why, what's going on?"  
  
His voice was tremulous now. "Well . . . the thing is, um . . . she didn't come home last night."  
  
She wasn't the only one, thought Buffy to herself. "Maybe she's just . . . I don't know, with some friends maybe."  
  
A humorless snort from across the line. "Friends? Drusilla knows exactly two people here, and it's the same two people who've been taking care of her for four years: me and Munitz."  
  
"Well . . . when was the last time you saw her?" Buffy was slightly guilty for the lack of concern in her voice, but she was afraid that she couldn't get very worked about a missing Drusilla.  
  
He sighed a shaky sigh. "Umm, last night, a little bit after you left the party. Munitz and I went off to get wasted and the bloody pillock I am, I just let her go home by herself." Buffy had to strain to hear it, but she could nearly hear him sweeping the guilty tears away. "This is all my sodding fault, I know it." His voice was so soft and broken that Buffy couldn't help but relate. Both their lovers were missing and they didn't know for certain that it wasn't their faults. Why was it that she and Spike, two people who could be so different, get into such relatable situations?  
  
"M-maybe she got lost . . . maybe she'll find her way back home."  
  
His voice was hard again now, incredulously disdainful at the prospect. "Please. Drusilla has never ventured past the street corner of her flat without getting hopelessly confused. She's never taken care of herself before. And umm, this is Sunnydale here. Center of bloody ugly mystical convergence, you told me."  
  
Buffy bit her lip. He was right. Anyone who went missing for more than three hours in Sunnydale were presumed mangled or dead or mangled and dead. "Well, have you looked for her?"  
  
"Everywhere. Me and Munitz have been scouring the city for her all morning. And nothing . . . I don't know what to do," he said despairingly, quiet again. "I feel like a part of my heart is lost and . . . hurting. I-I need to find her . . ."  
  
Buffy paused, touched at his tender words. She didn't necessarily get Spike and Dru's relationship, it seemed kind of . . . well, bizarre from the outside looking in. But she couldn't deny that Spike was a true romantic with Drusilla, and that was an admirable quality. Not only that, but his words kept forcing her mind to turn to her own hurt. And as she was reflecting on what he said, her mind suddenly flashed with the mental picture of Spike actually in physical pain, a stake sticking out of his bloodied chest, protruding out of his heart. Her dream. Had it been prophetic? And did it somehow have anything to do with Drusilla? Her eyes widened with fear and recognition. She was so intent on remembering this that the pause worried Spike.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"Huh-oh. Um, I was just thinking about something. Anyway, how about this, why don't I meet you at the library with Giles and the rest of the gang. We can research this there."  
  
"Research? What the bloody hell do we need research for?"  
  
"I don't know! It's just . . . what we do. Anyway, just come okay? I'll meet you there in thirty minutes. She quickly dropped the phone down and rushed to the library. She actually wanted to get to there before Spike did. She had told him to be there in thirty minutes when she knew she could be there in ten. She needed to question Giles about this dream. 


	17. Nightmares Realized

Chapter 17: Nightmares Realized

" . . . And that was the end of my dream," Buffy finished, shrugging uneasily when she was rewarded with looks of apprehension from her audience. Silence pervaded over the library as the Scoobies and Watcher struggled for a proper response to what Buffy had just told them.

Xander cleared his throat first, speaking with inappropriate alacrity. "Well, I think I speak for all Buffster, when I say . . . what the Sam Hill did you eat last night before going to bed? Because I'll go out of my way to avoid such nightmare-inducing indigestion."

Willow tugged on a copper lock of hair anxiously. "So you think it's a portent? A d-dream of the prophetic kind?"

Buffy continued to shrug ambivalently, but the hint of trepidation in her expression seemed to indicate that she did. "I don't know," she lied weakly. "The dream was really . . . vivid. Not like my usual dreams . . . t-they were more like the dreams I had about the Master . . . of course, there is no way to be sure," she countered herself nervously, sneaking a glance at Giles, who cupped his head in his hand, eyebrows furrowed. She was mostly fearful about these dreams for his sake. With his son guest starring in her dream as the role of the slain, Buffy didn't know how much fear Giles would invest in it. The last thing she wanted to do was to cause him more worry.

As if waking from a trance, Giles blinked twice and whipped off his glasses to grasp them irrelevantly in one hand. "Yes," he murmured, still thoughtful. "There's no way to be sure if Buffy's dream was a premonition, but there's still cause for worry."

"'Cause' being Angel acting the wacky or Buffy gutting Spike like a fish? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I'm kind of worry-free in the case of both scenarios." Xander retorted. Giles shot him a particularly severe look that silenced him immediately. 

"I don't get it, why would Angel act that way?" Willow asked, still frowning in confusion. "And why would _you_ ever kill Spike? It doesn't make sense."

"That's the dream Wills, in all its baffling glory. Not meant to be of the real comprehensible. The Powers That Be just love to send me this kind of crazy prophetic stuff so I can kick myself over the head with all the decoding fun."

"Still, Willow is right, the dream isn't connected to anything that's going on currently," Giles observed quietly. "When you dreamt of the Master, Buffy, it was because we had been battling him for quite awhile. The augury you had _was _a forewarning, but it was also a result of events accumulating in the direction of your final confrontation. This dream is different in that whatever event this portent is connected to has not even occurred, nor is there any undercurrent to indicate its happening----"

"Well Buffy isn't such a big fan of Spike," Xander pointed out, rather indifferent towards the whole prospect of Spike being killed in general. "Maybe that has something to do with it."

"Not so much that I'd ever want to _kill_ him!" Buffy objected hotly. 

"These dreams aren't to be taken literally Xander, I doubt Buffy would purposely kill Spike."

"See?" Buffy nodded gratefully, but realizing that this statement inferred that she could kill Spike unintentionally, she exclaimed a loud, "Hey! I would _never_ kill Spike at all, all our hostilities aside!"

"You did dream it, Buffy."

"I didn't _mean_ to!"

"Did you have an argument with Spike, any altercation or animosity that could have carried into your dream as the form of repressed aggression?"

Buffy snorted. "Animosity? Spike? That kind of defines our relationship right there. Still, it's not enough so to make me fantasize about driving a stake through his heart."

Giles rubbed his chin pensively. "Well what about Angel? That seems puzzling enough."

Buffy straightened awkwardly. "What _about_ Angel? Angel's gone . . . he's just . . . as gone as gone can be." She tried to keep an apathetic composure in case any one word gave her away completely. 

Giles frowned briefly, not needing to be reminded of this, but continued. "Well his behavior in your dream as you described it seems totally out-of-character . . ." Giles paused when he realized that this inferred that Angel was generally congenial. And as the one who had forced Angel out of Sunnydale in the first place, Giles felt it his obligation to hate him and vilify him. For his son, at the very least. 

"Yeah," Willow agreed. "He sounded very . . . un-Angel. Not Mr. Nice Broody Pants, more like . . . Mr. Evil Vampire Broody pants. Like he was suddenly of the non-souled variety of the undead."

"What was that?" Giles sat up in his chair, as if the Watcher mental light bulb had suddenly gone off.

Willow exchanged a mystified glance with Buffy. "Umm, Mr. Broody Pants?"

Giles had already swept out of his chair and was stalking the library aisles, scanning some texts. "No, no, about Angel not having his soul."

"Oh. Yeah, I was just saying----"

"Because that reminds me of something I read early on about Angelus in the watcher diaries."

"Angelus?" inquired Oz, who, being a relative newcomer to the Scoobies, still had a lot of catching up to do.

"The pre-soul, more unpleasant incarnation of Angel. He had a Gypsy curse placed on him long ago which supplied him with his soul---"

"And you're saying that you think now the soul isn't there anymore? It up and ran off on a whim?" posed Buffy, who tried to disguise her alarm at this idea. "You don't lose a soul." After some forethought she added, "At least not humans . . . which Angel isn't but . . . with the soul and all . . . you know what I mean!" She threw her hands up in frustration.

Giles had emerged from the shadowy shelves of the library armed with a voluminous book. "Well Angel could," he mumbled, peering down at the yellowed pages. "After all, he was _given_ a soul, I'm sure it could just as easily be taken away."

"Sounds like rather shoddy curse-age on the part of the gypsies," voiced Xander. "Isn't anyone concerned with the _quality_ of the product nowadays?"

"Here it is!" Giles held one finger up in the air with his eyes still on the book. "It says that the curse placed on Angelus ensured that his soul would remain intact and torment him for the rest of his existence, barring one possible circumstance in which he would be relieved of it." He looked up at the rest, and placed the book on the table with a thud. "A kind of 'clause' so to speak."

"So . . . that 'clause' means that if a certain something happens to Angel, his soul is taken away from him?"

"That's about the long and short of it."

"Well, what's the clause? What's the circumstance? What happens to Angel to make him lose his soul?"

Giles sighed, investigating the book more closely. "It doesn't say. The curse is right here in the book, and I'm guessing that it would provide the explanation. Unfortunately, it's in Czech, one of the few languages I'm not acquainted with. Perhaps I'll let Ms. Calendar take a look at it." He gazed back up at Buffy. Pausing a bit, he finally asked, "Buffy, was there . . . was there something that perhaps you remember happening to Angel that could possibly have triggered this?"

Buffy's eyes widened. "W-why . . . h-how would I know?" she exclaimed defensively. "I haven't seen Angel in three weeks." Funny how true that nearly was, for it seemed years had passed since last night.

Giles cocked his head, getting the impression that there was something Buffy was not saying. "I only ask because _you_ were the one who dreamt of him. Maybe some encounter---"

"Look, how many times do I have to say 'I don't know'?" Buffy exploded. "Because I don't! I can't _help_ what I dream, I don't know why I dream it, and I _don't_ know what it means! Which is why I come to _you_, watcher-guy, oh-bookish-Brit-with-all-the answers! You read the books! I slay the demons! You explain the confusing stuff and I go out and defeat it! And then I get a cookie! That's the system!" Buffy was suddenly and mysteriously overwrought, prompting Xander, Willow, Oz and Giles to exchange worried looks. 

Suddenly Spike stormed in, waving black duster in tow, halting breathlessly. "Well, here I am. I'm not one for the researching crap though, I just want to find Drusilla and want to find her _now_."

Giles approached his son in confusion. "Drusilla?"

Spike glared at Buffy in hostile surprise. "You haven't even _told_ them? What was the point of coming down here then?"

"I was getting to it!" Buffy snapped irately. Out of all the problems she currently faced, Spike was the one most annoying, ergo, the one she wanted to avoid the most.

"What about Drusilla?" Giles persisted. "What's happened?"

Spike squinted at his father as the ravages of age had attacked Giles and left him irrevocably clueless. Sighing deeply, and obviously not in the mood to divulge into any heavy exposition, he barreled through explanations. "Drusilla's missing. Want to find her. Can't find her. Need help finding her."

Xander sat back in his chair and nodded towards Buffy, Oz and Willow. "He gets his brevity from his father," he remarked loudly. 

"You mean to tell me . . ." Giles pinched the area between his eyes tiredly and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "Drusilla's missing?" 

"By jove, I think he's got it!" Spike exclaimed in a high Mary Poppin-ish accent before darkening again. "That's what I _said_, Rupert."

"Since when has she been missing?"

"Since last night. Didn't come home at all."

"And you've searched all you could for her?"

"Me and Munitz, all morning. Munitz is still out looking for her. This is all your fault y'know!"

Giles straightened self-righteously. "_Me_? Why is this bloody my fault?"

"You didn't even give the girl proper directions home! Too busy snogging that prissy li'l trollop schoolteacher to even offer Dru a ride!"

Giles set his teeth on edge. "Excuse me my dear boy, but Drusilla is _not_ my responsibility. I'm not your girlfriend's caretaker."

"No that's right, 'cause you're too busy larfing it up with this bunch! Face it, you had your mind made up to ignore Munitz and Dru while they were here, just the same as me. You don't care shit about me and my friends, you'd rather waste your time with these kids and that _slut_ you call a girlfriend----"

"Don't you _dare_ address Jenny like that---" shouted Giles furiously as he lunged towards his son, presumably to smack the adolescent, sanctimonious rebellion off his face. Buffy jumped up and restrained Giles solidly while Spike maintained a scowl towards his father. 

"Look," Buffy sighed, still trying to keep a seething Giles from committing the murder of his own son. "Arguing is the _last_ thing we need right now. "Why don't we all cool off and focus on the task at hand. I'll go with Spike and we'll do some sweeps of the town, see if we can't find Drusilla. Willow, Oz, you pull up some databases and see if you can find any missing persons reports that fit Drusilla's profile. Xander, you search the Bronze, talk to anyone there who might have seen Drusilla leave last night. Giles . . ." She turned to her watcher and gave him a commanding nod. "You research that . . . thing we were talking about." Giles hesitated, but nodded wearily as Buffy dragged Spike out of the library.

"I bloody _hate_ you," Spike muttered wrathfully under his breath as he swaggered next to Buffy through the moonlit park. She heard him, but continued walking in a confident stride, only acknowledging the comment with a slight shift of the head.

"Color me crushed," Buffy replied sarcastically, still a few steps in front of him.

"I'm serious. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't _be_ in this bloody mess."

Buffy stopped and turned, lilting her head, her eyes cold. "Got sick of laying the guilt on Giles, so you randomly turn it on me, do you?"

"Maybe. Whenever _something_ goes wrong, the odds are, you're behind it."

"A man of sound reason you are."

Spike continued to stalk through the park hatefully. "If it wasn't for your bloody birthday party, I wouldn't have gotten so festive and drunk and Dru wouldn't be wandering alone out by herself----"

"Wait . . ." Buffy held one hand up in incredulity. "You're actually blaming _me? _You actually think it's my fault because, what . . . it was my _birthday_? What next, you gonna cut into my mother for giving birth to me, hence creating the day of celebration you could use as an excuse to get wasted? Were all the other excuses gone? Sick of using the one commemorating the days that end in 'y'?"

"God, you think you know it all, don't you?" Spike stopped and glared at her, anger overcoming and hardening his features completely. "Pretentious bint, thinks she's got all the answers, that she can do no wrong----"

"It isn't my fault you were too inebriated to baby-sit your loopy girlfriend!"

She had crossed a line, and the dangerous flicker in Spike's eye made that apparent. "Don't call her that," he snarled.

"What?" she challenged defiantly. "Don't call her what? Clingy? Possessive? Codependently deranged? Face it Spike, that girl is more a doll to you than a partner. And you're more like her lapdog than her boyfriend----"

"_Shut your gob_!!" Spike advanced near her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his anger steam off him, warming her body, already set in her fighter stance. He jutted his face a few inches from her, his hard cheekbones on edge and his fiery azure eyes flaming precariously. 

She just shoved her face closer, unaware of how fast-paced her breathing had suddenly become, as if she was preparing to take on a legion of vampires in the glorious rush of battle. Her hazel eyes pierced vehemently into his. "Or . . . what?" she whispered huskily. "What are you gonna do Spike? Take on a Slayer? Just try me, and I'll introduce you to a whole new world of ass-kicking _you_ weren't acquainted with."

Spike opened his mouth to respond, but to her surprise, faltered and just continued to stare at her, the blues of his eyes surveying her intently. Something wasn't right here. She glared back at him, but began to feel prickly. Like she was suddenly aware of his close proximity to her, and how it suddenly felt . . . not as rage-inducing and abrasive as she thought it would be . . . although there was more than enough friction and anger to spare . . . but no, it felt . . . it felt . . .

"Uh-oh, looks like trouble in paradise . . ." A facetious voice cut into Buffy's bewildered state and brought her back to life, forcing her to break out of the gaze she and Spike held. Looking to her left for the source of the voice, her heart immediately dropped to her stomach the moment she caught view of the speaker. Spike held the similar response. 

Angel stood, grinning languidly. His arm was hanging off Drusilla, who had an unusually impish smile on her face. "Look baby," Angel purred, grazing his lips along the rim of Drusilla's ear and along the ivory nape of her neck. "It's our significant others."

Spike's face was ashen, his face painted with shock. "Drusilla?" he whispered in a haze. "Drusilla, luv, what are you----"

Drusilla just continued to smile cattily, sweeping one hand along her neck to clear her hair away slowly. And then Spike and Buffy's world stopped when they caught sight of the little two puncture marks on her neck, already scabbing over. 

"Daddy's just been teaching me some new tricks," she lilted in a voice floating above the illuminated clouds of night. Sensuously sliding one hand across Angel's chest, she cocked her head and licked the edge of her teeth, two new fangs shining in the dusk. "Wanna play?"

AN: One of my reviewers told me I was becoming "quite the Queen of Cliffhangers". Lol, I suppose that's true. I tried not to leave this at this particular spot, but again I must apologize, AP Calculus calls (all math teachers should be assassinated . . . not to offend any math-lovers out there) and I had to end it there. With the way I'm going, this story will NEVER get done . . . and I have three more parts planned! Argh! Well I hope I can update soon! And that goes for my other fics as well! *Crosses her fingers*


	18. A Changing of the Guard

Chapter 18: A Changing of the Guard

For the next several minutes, Buffy and Spike stared at the vision in front of them, trying to determine if it was real. The first coherent word Spike could form was a soft "No."

Angel lilted his head and an expression of mock concern passed over his features. "What is it William? Cat got your tongue?" He was speaking as if he was cooing to a child. Spike could not respond, his eyes intently alternating between the wound on Drusilla's neck to Angel's hand, which was sweeping across Dru's back in slow, lazy movements. Buffy was staring at the same thing and found it amazing that she was even standing. Her throat was a desert of confusion and panic but she somehow managed to utter:

"A-Angel?"

Sweeping his head grandly, he gazed at Buffy with a complacent smile. "Hi honey." His voice dripped with heavy and cloying mockery. Slowly withdrawing his arm from around Drusilla's waist, he tilted his head and approached her with a cocky leer. "What are you doing here?"

Buffy just stared at him. He sounded like he was asking a purely innocent question, like he was generally and vaguely interested to know. That wasn't like him. The Angel she knew wouldn't ask her "what are you doing here" in a bemused, pleasantly uninterested voice. The Angel she knew would ask her "what are you doing here" in a strangled voice, both dismayed and joyful to know that she was near him. The Angel she knew would be too conflicted and broody to ever give her the loopy grin he was presently administering. And the Angel she knew wouldn't ever have his arm wrapped around Drusilla. So it was established that this wasn't the Angel she knew. Why did that have such difficulty registering? "W-what . . . what are _you_ doing here Angel? Y-you with . . . with Drusilla---"

"You look upset Buff, you okay?" Why was he speaking to her like he was her high school counselor? "Because I'm sensing that you're in pain. I-is this about last night? Because I was gonna call about that, really I was, it's just . . . I got tied up making some new . . . friends." His voice tapered off seductively as he turned back to Drusilla, who beamed in response. 

"You son-of-a---" Spike started, his voice murderously sharp.

"Ah ah ah, Spike, no harsh words now, there are _ladies_ present." His arm returned furtively to Dru's side.

Spike couldn't even conjure a proper response, so instead he turned to Drusilla, thinking that if he implored her long enough, this nightmare of a reality would disappear. "Drusilla . . . t-this is . . . it's not true, he didn't make you----"

"Daddy's opened a new world for me, Spikey, a brave new world . . . he's shown me the stars and they've all painted a picture for me and it's dancing, dancing in me head . . ." Drusilla waved one of her hands and her fingers threaded through the air gracefully as she swooped her head back and forth in all insanity.

Angel chuckled and looked back at Buffy and Spike in delight. He held Dru more tightly and possessively now. "Isn't she adorable?" he exclaimed. "My first fledgling! You would think in all my two hundred years, I would have thought of this sooner, but----"

"Get away from her," Spike growled.

Angel straightened and feigned intimidation. "Well gee Spike, you talked me right into it . . . but why we don't was ask the missus first?" He emphasized the word 'missus' by leaning his head down towards Dru and brushing his lips across her forehead. Buffy began to feel nauseous and desperately sick to the bottom of her stomach, the pain wrenching the tears from her eyes.

Spike clenched his teeth, ready to run screaming towards Angel with a battle cry and his stake raised. But instead, he found himself slowly reaching out his hand for Dru. He stared at her fiercely, his eyes intensely beseeching her. "Come on, Dru," he whispered, his hand outstretched. 

Drusilla gazed at him haughtily in a face paler than china and backed away. "Don't wanna," she replied petulantly with a pout. 

"_Dru-----_"

"It's a new world, William, Daddy's shown me the way."

"It is not!!" Spike screamed, whipping his hand down forcefully. "And he's not your fucking 'Daddy'!! You aren't what he made you, y-you can't be----"

"You're just jealous, my love," Drusilla crooned, spooning back into Angel's protective arms. "Daddy said you would be jealous. That you wouldn't accept the fact I'm a princess . . . that I can see the stars. And I can see them, William. I can see everything now . . . "

"You're a princess! You're a goddamn stargazing princess! You can be the damned Princess of Mesopotamia if you want to be, you just have to be it with _me_, and get away from him!!"

Drusilla cocked her head and pursed her lips like a sorrowful child. "Poor Spikey, it's hard for him to lose his Black Orchid Princess. But it's the way it has to be, dearest . . . don't you see? You always called me your groupie, Spike, and you always got center stage while I waited in the wings . . . but now," she turned her head to a smiling Angel. "I've found a groupie of me own . . . and it's my turn for the spotlight."

Angel turned to him derisively. "I think she's trying to say she wants to see other people."

Spike hardened and unbridled fury flared out from him like a forest fire. "You bastard-----" he cried before launching onto Angel with full force. Struggling to rouse him with a powerful uppercut, Angel easily deflected it and kicked Spike's feet out from under him. Spike tried to spring back up on his feet, but Angel spied the stake that had tumbled out of Spike's pocket and grabbed it, while securing Spike where he was with his foot. Leaning down, he grabbed Spike up by the collar and smashed him against a tree, bearing the point of the stake down onto his chest. His game face rising, Angel snarled brutally in a sickeningly sinister smile, and Spike gasped with pain as he felt the point break through his shirt, and through his skin. Suddenly, Angel lurched backwards, thrown off Spike by Buffy, who grabbed the stake away from him and trapped him on the other side of the tree.

It had happened so quickly that Buffy didn't have a chance to look at Angel fully in the eyes as she raised her stake. And she shouldn't have paused to do so either, because on swift swoop of the arm and she could have been done with it. But no, she instead had to catch her breath and lilt her head up so that their eyes met. And despite a foreign yellow hardness that flickered there, Angel's eyes were still meltingly brown, a shade of chocolate that always made Buffy's stomach turn. Angel smirked at Buffy as she strangled a gasp and murmured. "You like it rough, baby? You sure weren't singing that song last night. It was more vanilla for you, wasn't it?" His breath was disgustingly cold on her neck. 

Repulsed, she shoved herself off of him with speed. Such horrible things coming out of the same soft mouth she once worshipped. The vision of him was blurred and clouded by the line of tears filling the lower rim of her eyes, but Angel prodded on. "You were good though," he whispered huskily. "There's no denying that, kiddo. I didn't think you had all those tricks up your sleeve for such a young one. That slayer strength came in handy too . . ." He leaned his head back a mimicked a pleasure-filled gasp. "That was some night, Buffy. We'll have to do it again sometime."

Her breath was catching up to her and her knees inwardly shook. She felt Spike's eyes suddenly bore into her accusingly as he began to understand what was going on, but she didn't vary her glance from Angel. "Angel . . . A-Angel you don't mean it," she heard herself say, as if she was still talking to The Angel She Knew, not this present monster. 

"Mean what? That you're such a demon in the sack? Don't be so modest, Buffy, you are. I've had my fair share of women, but you . . . screwing a slayer was more than I dreamt it would ever be . . . " He smiled indolently as Buffy tried to resist the impulse to give way to her quaking legs and faint completely away. 

Spike stared at Buffy and Angel with suspicion, but turned his attentions quickly with Drusilla. Now that Buffy had Angel somewhat preoccupied, this gave Spike and Dru a chance to escape. Grabbing Dru by the arm, he began to drag her away. "Come on, Drusilla, while we still have the chance," he whispered urgently. 

Drusilla resisted with force. "You never want me to shine, Spike. You never want me to glitter and soar. Daddy's showing me how, my place is with him-----"

"He's not your place, Dru!" Spike insisted ragingly. "You're place is with me and Munitz and the gang and----"

Drusilla cocked her head curiously. "Munitz?"

"Munitz! You're bloody brother Munitz! The only family you know!"

Drusilla leaned back into Angel. "I'm the only family she'll know now," Angel sneered softly.

"NO. You will never be family. Me and Munitz, we're Drusilla's family, and there's nothing you can do to change that----"

"Oh, but I think I already have." Angel stepped aside and dragged out a limp form from behind another tree. He flopped it carelessly at Spike and Buffy's feet, and Spike opened his eyes wide with horror as he leaned down to inspect it.

"Spike---" a broken voice croaked. Munitz stared up at Spike and breathed in raggedy pants. A trail of blood streaked down from his neck and his eyes flickered with the last sign of life. Plopping down onto his knees, Spike surveyed Munitz, stricken. 

"Oh God, oh God---"

"Dru wanted to turn him, but I really thought it was appropriate this way, you know? I mean, it's a spectacular example of déjà vu for one thing, isn't it? I killed your mother all those years ago, I thought, what better than to kill your surrogate father figure in the same manner? It comes full circle then, don't you see?" Angel laughed darkly at no one in particular, only relishing in the sordid humor by himself. 

"No, oh God, Munitz, oh God." The poor boy was practically hyperventilating.

"God's not with him now, luv," Drusilla chirped coquettishly. "God's not with us at all . . . and that's where all the fun is."

Munitz was still gasping for air, reaching up to Spike to utter a few last words, and Spike desperately jutted his face near his mouth to catch anything he might whisper. But by the time he reached his ear to Munitz's mouth, he felt nothing, not even cold air, strike his skin. Gazing down at his best friend in all the world, he found Munitz staring back up with him in a blank, void gaze. Feeling the part of his neck left unbloodied, he found no pulse. He was dead. 

Like Drusilla, this was something Spike was not about to gracefully accept. He just shook his head maniacally as his back hunched up and down despairingly. Clenching his teeth, he again felt blinding anger pulse through his veins, and he tried to clumsily get off his feet to attack Angel once more. Angel sniggered. "You don't ever quit, do you William?"

Buffy jumped up and solidly blocked Spike from getting nearer to Angel. "I know I don't," she quipped in a hard voice before she advanced onto him, stake raised high. With a cry, she jumped up and kicked him mid-torso, forcing him back. He recovered swiftly and smacked her across the face hard with his fist. Blocking more of her punches, his features turned again, displaying his true nature in this twisted game of violence. He delivered a powerful head butt that sent her reeling backwards, and Angel soon tried to force himself on top of her. But quick as lightening, Buffy rolled, which sent Angel sprawling onto his back in the grass. Soon he found himself trapped under Buffy's iron grip as she straddled him and pointed the stake down onto his chest. Just as she was about to ram the piece of wood into his unbeating heart, Angel's features shifted once more so that he was shining in boyish youthfulness. And she hesitated.

"Do it," he urged, snarlingly . "End it, right here, right now, Buffy. You started it, you end it. Dust your one true love and be done with it." Horrified, Buffy slowly lifted the stake, as if the words had numbed her. "You started it." What the hell did that mean? Because if that meant . . . the trigger . . . no. No, that couldn't happen, that couldn't be it---

Buffy was still frantically going over these words in her mind as Angel sneered. "You can't do it, can you? You can't kill me. You still think that I'm your weepy, blubbering, sniveling Angel, a noble knight shouldering the heavy burden of humanity. Well news flash, doll: Your boyfriend is dead. And there's been a changing of the guard. Expect new and better things." With that, he reached up and kissed her brutally, piercing her lips with his fangs, drawing blood. Buffy tried to squirm out of the hateful kiss, but Angel had already threw her to the side, smacked her hard across the face and ran into the night's darkness grasping Dru's hand. Still by Munitz's side, Spike dazedly looked up from his friend's corpse and stared at Buffy, who sat silent and stricken on the grass. She stared at the stake in front of her, and the rumpled grass where Angel had lay just a minute ago. It looked like rumpled sheets. Like the sheets from last night . . .

She was so intent on staring at the grass in front of her that she didn't notice Spike screaming. "You let him go!! You let him go, you bitch!! You had him twice and you let the bastard go!! D-Do you know what you've done?!!" His voice became increasingly strangled, so Buffy gazed back at him, breathing hard through tears. Spike had picked up his friend's limp body and began to stalk through the grass. "You've _killed_ me, Blondie. You let him take everything and everyone that I loved. You've _killed_ me." Broken and ambling, he began stumbling away, still carrying the body as it flopped around in his arms. Buffy stared at his retreating figure and realized, at that moment, that the prophecy had been fulfilled. And she was the cause of it.

AN: I wrote this late night on Sunday, because I really did want to update, it's been awhile. Unfortunately, I've been taking cold medicine, so I must say, I wasn't fully conscious when writing this. There are probably mistakes, and I think it's a little overwrought (I wanted to add more parts to it, but was too tired) but I'll just upload it and edit it later if I catch some huge mistakes or the chapter just needs massive overhaul in general. Also, I'm compelled to plug my other currently in-progress fic, "Baby, You Don't Even Know". Not as angsty and dramatic as this one, some of you might actually enjoy it. Not just another "Buffy's Pregnant" fic, I swear. Check it out if you can! 


	19. To Break and To Burn

Chapter 19: To Break and To Burn

Giles and Ms. Calendar shared a casual bout of laughter while absently leafing through some old volumes while Xander, Oz and Willow tried hard to stay conscious amidst all the rigorous textual perusing. Xander was about to fail miserably as his head was two seconds from falling to the table with a resounding thud, but a loud slamming of the library doors roused him awake. Everyone looked up in surprise as Buffy stormed into the room with a foreign stone expression on her face. 

"Hey Buff, you're back early. All anxious to hop in on all the research-y rowdiness? It's the spectacular kind of fun that isn't," Xander yawned. 

Giles furrowed his eyebrows with perplexity. "Buffy . . . why, we certainly weren't expecting you back so soon, have you found Drusilla already?"

"What's the clause?" Buffy interrupted him, unsettling hardness seeping into her voice.

Giles just stared at her, her abruptness alarming him. He glanced to see if Spike was trailing behind her. "Where's Spike?" he asked softly.

Buffy's eyes betrayed a hint of something broken, but her outward demeanor refused to express the same. "What's the clause?" she persisted, her voice remaining unrelentingly cold. 

There was something not right about this, Giles could feel it. And it had to do with Spike. His son. Buffy was not telling him something, and the guarded, warrior-like acerbity she was displaying made him suddenly feel sick inside. So he stood up with the same rigidity and stared back at her. "Where's my son, Buffy?" he asked her carefully. 

Her eyes were shining and looked like they were about to brim over with tears, but nothing about her moved. She just stared and stared at Giles like she was seeing through him, past his figure into vacuous space. "He's at the hospital."

Alarm gripped Giles like a tidal wave and felt like it had the power to knock him over, but the only action it incited was a whipping off of the glasses. He pinched the area between his eyes and said quietly, "Again?"

"He's not hurt." 

"Not hurt? So the prophecy didn't happen?" asked Willow, sitting up.

Buffy tightened visibly as if the innocent words had struck a deep painful chord. "It did. It happened already. I was too . . . it's too late."

Giles looked at Buffy sharply. "What? Then how is it that Spike wasn't hurt?"

"He isn't," she repeated. 

"Then what is he doing at the bloody hospital?!"

"He's there because . . . he rode in on the ambulance when they brought Munitz in."

Wide-eyes from everyone in the room. "Munitz? Why, what's happened to Munitz?"

Buffy paused and a fluttering choke got stuck in her throat as she whispered it. "He's dead."

"Oh my god," where the respective responses from Willow and Ms. Calendar. Giles seemed deadened with shock.

"How?"

Buffy finally looked at him fully, tears now evident. "Angel. Or . . . the _us_ version of him, apparently."

"You mean----"

"Angel's lost his soul?" Willow finished.

Buffy looked down at her hands and tried to brush off the wave of panic of fear and desperation and pain as she stood in front of her friends. "That's about the long and short of it," she murmured, trying hard to feign calmness. 

"Wait . . . w-what's happened to Drusilla? Were you able to find her?"

Buffy sighed. "It's not a matter of whether we found her. It's . . . it's how we found her."

"You don't mean Angel . . . you know . . . too?" Willow let pregnant pauses and awkward hand motions convey what she wasn't able to say. 

"No. She wasn't dead."

"Then what, Buffy?" Giles exploded impatiently. "Really, you _must_ tell us exactly what happened."

"She's . . . s-she's . . ." Buffy was loosing her cool all could see it. " . . . Angel changed her." The name of her previously beloved felt like a barb in her throat. 

"Dear god," Giles breathed, sinking into a chair heavily. 

"Which is why I have to know more about this clause, Giles, I have to know what happened to Angel that made him this way." Buffy regained a little more strength when she was masked with initiative.

Giles was unable to respond as he cradled his head in his hand with disbelief, but Ms. Calendar got up carefully and handed Buffy a piece of paper.

"I translated the curse," she replied softly. Buffy picked the piece of paper up with a shaking hand. Ms. Calendar's scrawled handwriting was messy due to lack of use since she favored typing more. But amidst the sloppy and unintelligible writing, Buffy could clearly make out one phrase, which was underlined boldly. "One true moment of happiness" it read, and her heart was immediately wrenched at the sight of it. Her worst fears realized. She had an inkling of understanding before, nominal enough to still maintain some denial, but now . . .

"It's a little bit vague," Ms. Calendar admitted when she saw Buffy look up from the translation with a blank, aghast expression on her face. "The Czech was in a convoluted dialect that was hard to recognize, but that's about the gist of what I could make out. I don't exactly know what they mean by "one true moment of happiness", that could mean lots of things, but----"

It was only one thing to Buffy and she was aware of how much she was involved in bringing it about. So she turned, as abruptly as she had come in, and started to make her way out of the library, mumbling incomprehensibly under her breath.

"Buffy, wait!" Giles ordered. Grabbing her arm, he turned her so that she faced him. "Buffy, you have to tell us what's going on. Tell us all you can. Where was Angel, what did he say to you, what did Drusilla----"

"I can't," she whispered hoarsely in a broken voice, shaking her head tearfully in a daze. "I-I just can't . . . I c-can't deal with this, I c-can't . . ." Moments before she erupted fully into tears, she turned back and ran out of the library before anyone could call out her name in protest. She stumbled blindly out the school's doors and ran into the cloaked night, making her legs surge her into a stride that would not be broken until her lungs finally gave out, either from the exertion of running or the mad sobs that racked her whole body. 

Angel had chosen the mansion on Crawford Street the night before, when he had first changed Drusilla. He knew that his own apartment was no longer a place he could stay----but it wasn't because he was afraid that slip of a slayer that was so enamoured with him would track him there and stake him. It was obvious by now that he could take her. He could do more than that, he would destroy her and break her by the time he was done. But doing that required time to think and to plan, and he couldn't very well do this with that lovesick schoolgirl always coming round to his apartment. Besides, the old crumbling mansion was more spacious, more his style. It was overrun with old foliage and dark enough to appeal to his gothic nature. It would be perfect for him and his new companion. 

He was tickled and infatuated with Dru immediately. She was everything Buffy wasn't----enigmatic, adorably dependent, and child-like. She made a fella feel _needed_. That was refreshing. With Buffy, he had been a soppy, broody do-gooder who had been so ridden with humanity that he felt grateful to just help out her and her sad, drippy friends. Not anymore. He would make that bitch pay for ever degrading him that way and he would do it all with Drusilla on his arm. 

Drusilla spun around the main room of the mansion gleefully. "Oh Daddy, I adore it!" she cried, twirling faster and faster, her feet crunching the dead leaves scattered about the floor.

"I knew you would, baby, I'll _always _know what you want."

Drusilla stopped and smiled lasciviously at him. "I want something right now," she purred, her eyes twinkling precociously. 

Angel approached her in a seductive stride. "What is it you want, princess? You ask, and it's yours . . ."

Drusilla giggled liltingly and low. Leaning into him, she brought her face near his ear and danced her fingers about his neck. "I want . . . food."

"Is that all? That can be easily arranged. I can get you anything your little unbeating heart desires, sweetness. I could get you pretty dresses, pretty girls in pretty dresses, anything you'd ever want." He snaked an arm around her waist in a way that made her squeal. Backing her up into the fireplace, the two brushed by a piece of paper that lay on the floor. Suddenly, as if it called to her, Drusilla reached down and picked it up, inspecting it. It was the paper from only two days ago, and the headline read: "Mysterious Artifact Found Near Sunnydale, Museum Authorities Researching It". A black-and-white-photo displayed something that looked like a massive, ungainly block with some sort of ancient writing on it. 

"Oh . . ." Drusilla breathed with delight. "You can get me _that_ . . ."

Angel peered at the photo with a frown. "That? A hunk of stone? What would you want with that?"

"It calls to me, Daddy. It fills me head with all sorts of glimmering voices. It pulls me close and whispers to me all sorts of delicious nothings . . ."

This was one thing he had to get used to. Her incessant ramblings. Half the time, he couldn't figure out what the hell she was talking about, but sometimes he could hear something magical and forewarned in the words. He knew a few psychics . . . well ok, he had _eaten_ a few psychics, and they seem to prattle on in the same way. Maybe he lucked out and chose a clairvoyant for a fledging. 

"What kind of things does it say?" Angel whispered, his lips lingering along the outer rim of her ear. 

Drusillia chuckled once more. "It says that Ms. Edith will have a party and everyone's invited. And they'll dance and dance and dance, even if they don't want to. The King of Cups will see to it that they put on a show so grand that we'll all shield our eyes from the burning. And they'll burn and burn and burn."

This sounded interesting. "Who'll burn?"

"_Them_. The ones with their games and their larks and their laughs and their light. Infesting the world with good, muddling it up with their righteousness. But they'll be gone. _Poof----_like ashes of nothing, they'll go asunder. " She blew out and flickered her fingers about to signify floating ashes scattering. 

Angel smiled widely. This just got better and better. He couldn't believe his luck. "And the rock told you all this?" 

Drusilla nodded, tracing patterns on his chest. "Will you get it for me, Daddy?"

Angel shrugged with a grin. "Hey . . . whatever my girl wants, my girl gets."

****

AN: I knew I had to write another chapter or else you'd all fear whether I had fallen off the face of the earth. Wanted to make this chapter longer as usual, but I'm trying to wean off the habit of rambling. Lucky for you guys, this means an update will be coming your way pretty soon since I had to divide this chapter into two parts. Thanks to those who are still reading! 


	20. All One Can Give

****

AN: Re-reading the chapter I posted last night, I realized that it sounded like I was referring to the Judge in the scene with Dru and Angel. Just to clarify, the goof in the rock is Acathla. But since I get confused and muddled about the two anyway, I was thinking of the Judge while writing it. So apologies if that confused people. If no one noticed, then cheers. I know the two aren't exactly one in the same and the mythology is different, but I'll just mess Acathla a bit so that he fits Dru's descriptions. That's the great thing about fanfic, isn't it? Manipulate the circumstances so that your mistakes are as good as gold. 

Chapter 20: All One Can Give

Charles Hathaway had worked at the Sunnydale Museum of History for twenty years. Antiquity and archeology fascinated him----more than that, it consumed him. It was his passion to pick apart seemingly meaningless pieces of aged and petrified stone and fossils until they finally gave insight into days past. He was a lonely, single man of 45 who spent long nights mulling over chippings of limestone and old chunks of earth, thinking that if he found out the secret of these old relics, the loose little pieces of his life would be filled. So when the huge boulder with ancient engravings arrived from an excavation outside of town, he was ecstatic and blind with excitement. It was the biggest fossil that he had ever seen. And obviously it held some sort of meaning, judging from the mysterious encryption covering the whole surface. It enraptured him so much that he was still at the museum at 1:45 in the morning, trying to decipher the meaning of the rock. 

He was so intent on looking at close-up photos of the stone's written code that he didn't notice the slight stream of whispers that emanated from it. It was an unsettling, low whisper that filled the air with an ugly rumble. Suddenly his ears pricked up, sensing something, and he turned to gaze at it, a small spreading cloud of fear blooming in him. Slowly, he got up and neared the rock, bringing one hand to touch the writing on the surface. The quiet rumbling of voices got louder and louder, but Hathaway had the impulse to rest his ear against the stone and fill it with the frightening sound. Suddenly, a cold hand gripped him from behind with force. In horror, Hathaway turned, but another deathly chilled hand smothered his screams, and before he knew what was happening, a pair of fangs had lunged into his neck, drawing the coppery life force into a voracious mouth. 

"Dru?"

Drusilla turned, her lips still stained with the mulberry-colored liquid while the limp body fell to the side. Angel surveyed his childe with satisfaction, then gazed with awe at the rock that seemed to fill the room. "Save some for Daddy," he clipped, nearing the rock and reveling in the storm of voices. 

Buffy ran haphazardly into the cemetery with a stake hanging carelessly from her hand. She had been sprinting through the town without direction for a couple hours. She couldn't stop her legs from running, even if she tried. She felt a burning despair rise in her chest and it seemed like it would only find relief if Buffy kept moving. To still would mean that Buffy would have to deal with maelstrom of emotions that felt like they could break her if she let them. So her legs kept propelling her forward.

She couldn't go home. She didn't want to face her mother and her gentle questions or her concern or slightly stern reprimanding when she arrived home late. She didn't want to face the prospect of curling up into a fetal position on her bed and crying her eyes out for hours. 

So she was here at the cemetery, praying that there were still a few stray vamps to dust. She needed to slay, now more than ever. She never felt so much pull to her calling than now. She had unleashed a violent demon to onto Sunnydale and it was all out of the selfishness of her own desires. She had to make it up to society. She had to make up for what she had created. She would stake ten vampires to make up for the one she didn't. 

And much simpler than that, she needed to kick ass. It was a release, it was way she could let out all the chaotic anger and pain without having to face it. So with an unsteady hand, she raised her stake, poised for a fight. 

A slip of shadow darted from a tombstone in front of her. Edging it carefully, she gritted her teeth, rejoicing in the presence of prey. With feather-like, silent steps, she padded over to the tombstone, guarding herself on the other side of it. Suddenly with lightning speed, she reached her hand up over the tombstone and grabbed the vampire and flipped him up in the air so that he flew with his legs up over his head onto the other side of the grave. Getting up quickly, she straddled him in an iron-grip and held the stake to his chest. And then she realized it wasn't a vampire.

"Bloody hell!"

Buffy whipped the stake up quickly. "Spike?"

"Of course it is, you bloody cow, get the hell off me!"

She scrambled off of him and knelt in the grass. "What are you doing here?"

"Prolly the same as you. Searching for some ruddy beastie to kill." 

Buffy couldn't speak; she had no idea what to say to him, after everything that happened. She half expected that his next move was to try and beat the crap out her for what she did----or more precisely, what she _failed_ to do. "Have you . . . have you gone home yet?"

Spike looked down darkly. "What home?" he muttered. "Everything I considered my home's been destroyed."

She knew it would come to that and again felt the seeping storm of guilt spread through her. "I . . . I'm sorry----"

"Save it Blondie," Spike interrupted, but not as harshly as she expected. "I don't want to hear it."

Buffy shook her head through tears. "Hear what?" she nearly whispered. "That I'm the reason your best friend and girlfriend are---"

"_I said I don't want to hear it!!_" he screamed with heartbreaking anger. He clenched his teeth and started pawing at the ground maniacally for no reason at all. "I was there too!! I know what happened!! You think I don't?! I'll know everyday, it'll haunt me every fucking day!!"

"I-I'm s-sorry Spike, god, I'm so sorry-----"

"Yeah, so you're sorry! What good is it to me?! Being sorry won't bring Dru and Munitz back to me!! Don't you understand?! Don't you see that?! And I'm left with nothing!! Nothing at all! I'm stuck with a father who doesn't care shit over me, I'm stuck millions of miles from my home and my true family, and most off all, I'm stuck with _you_!! The murderer of the two people who meant the most to me!!"

Buffy knew inside that it was true, but her mouth was forming resisting words of their own. "I d-didn't . . . I didn't mean to-----"

"It was you who turned him, wasn't it?" he suddenly asked in an abrupt whispering tone. 

Buffy straightened. "How did you----how did you know that?" 

"I went to the library. I read the curse. I heard what Angel said to you. I put two and two together." He was shaking with the kind of quiet anger that scared Buffy, despite her normal steely stoicism. She had no idea she was so fearful of him at the moment. Maybe because she knew that his blinding anger was justified.

" I didn't know---"

"Of course you didn't. You slept with a demon and thought it was the most non-twisted thing in the world. Cheers."

"What do you want, Spike?!" Buffy finally screamed. She was tired of this. She was tired of him constantly kicking her when she was down. She was hurting too. God, she was hurting. "What do you want me to do?! You want me to go back in time to stake Angel the first time I saw him?! Because I would, god how I would! I would go back in time and stake him in 1989 before he ever touched your mother just to save you the pain! I'd do it! But I can't! So what do you want me to do, what d-do you want me say?!"

Spike was shaking his head rapidly as he crouched in the grass. "I don't want you to do anything . . . I don't need anything from you . . . you hear me? Nothing. I don't need anything . . ." But suddenly, he clutched his sides as if in pain. "But god, it's not true . . . it's not true . . ." He buried his head in his hands and Buffy sat shocked and stared at him. He had begun to cry. He was so hard and soft in the same moment. He was all the extremes in one choked sob. But he wouldn't let Buffy hear it. His sobs were silent and choked and stifled. The only way she could tell that he was crying was the rise and fall of his sharp shoulder blades. Cautiously, she scooted slowly near him. He drew his head from his arms and he was beautiful, broken and harsh with his stormy blue eyes emitting reluctant tears. But there was nothing feminine about Spike crying. It was frightening and terrifying. 

"I need to feel like it's not a mess," he was rambling incoherently. "I n-need to feel like I can breathe again. I need to feel like the world isn't ending. Can you give me that Buffy? Can you? I don't think so . . ." he buried his head in his hands once more, and this time Buffy slowly enveloped his shaking form in her arms. At first stiffly, because she didn't know if he would try to react violently to the touch. But no, he was still merely racked with sobs, so she relaxed him into her hold. A wave of shared sympathy and pain overcame her and made her feel like this was the only place for her. She never wondered how she and Spike, two people who had been such adversaries, had gotten to this point, crouched together in the middle of the night at a cemetery. She only smoothed his head like a mother comforting a child and cooed to him softly. 

"It'll be okay," she lied. "Shhh shhh, it'll be okay."

****

Another AN: I know it might seem like Spike's motivations are a little confusing. I mean, he's calling Buffy a murderer one moment, and letting her hold him the other. But I figure if James Marsters was carrying this scene, he could have pulled it off, lol. And besides, I need to edge it towards the eventual Spuffiness, don't I?


	21. The Rise of a New Evil

**Author's Note:** Yes it's me! I'm back in business after a loonnngg hiatus, I hit a dry spell for a little (okay, I'm lying, not so little) while, with homework adding to my unmotivated state, but hopefully now, I'll hit an inspired streak and post the next chapters up in quick succession. I'll try to have some chapters from "Baby You Don't Even Know" up too. Oh, and some dialogue in this chapter is taken from "Becoming Part One" just because the dialogue in that episode is so great, it would be a pity _not_ to include it. It's hard to make a great thing greater. From here on out, the story does depend heavily on the last two episodes of Season 2.

Chapter 21: The Rise of a New Evil

Drusilla held her arms out blindly and spun around the room, waltzing with an invisible stranger. "It's so pretty," she chanted over and over in a childish litany. She paused and neared the huge stone structure that stood in front of the fireplace. With a little sigh, she wrapped her arms around it and put her face to the cold surface. "It fills my head."

Angel turned around to see his childe hugging the hunk of rock. He chuckled, turning his attention away from the book he was holding. This structure was many things; it was lethal, it was deadly, it was the deliverer of doom and misery and pain. It was a great many adjectives, but none ever coming close to "pretty". "That it is, sweet pea." Suddenly, his seductive purr hardened as he called, "Manny, Louis, come here!"

Drusilla released her hold on the rock as she watched the two vampire henchmen file into the room, each armed with crow bars. Grinning, she clapped her hands with delight. "Is Daddy gonna unlock my treasure chest?"

Angel cocked his head at the stone and the henchmen set to work on prying it open. "That's right, honey. It's a treasure." He turned and smirked at Dru, who gazed at him like a fawning teenager with a brat pack crush. "You know what this is, baby? You know what this will do for us?"

She glided serpent-like over to him, wrapping one arm around his neck. "It'll be a party, won't it?" she whispered into his ear. "It'll be a party that'll never end. Blood flowing like wine, bodies withering like flames, that's what you promised me."

Angel brought a thumb to caress her plump lower lip, still stained from breakfast. "And no one will ever say that I don't keep good on my promises."

A resounding thud and a slab of stone hit the floor. "It's open, Boss," one henchman announced. 

Angel turned and gazed with satisfaction at the ugly horned statue that scowled at all the surveyors. Striding up to it, Angel slid one hand across the sword that protruded out of its chest reverently. "Acathla," he murmured with the utmost respect.

"Acathla will throw me a party," Dru chanted again, commencing a joyful jig. "Acathla shall throw me the grandest celebration."

Angel turned to Manny. "You've got the kid?" he asked harshly. Manny nodded and dragged out the gagged body of a teenage boy, writhing with fear in his constraints. He was just another anonymous Sunnydale adolescent whose sole purpose in life was to become a snack-able for those like Angel. He was stringy and lanky and probably had psychedelic, herbally-laced blood, but Angel didn't care. He wouldn't be needing him for food. 

Angel took hold of the whimpering boy and brought him to his feet. Removing the gag from the boy's mouth, he suddenly gave the boy a sick smile that was seemingly warm and genuine. The boy continued sobbing uncontrollably. 

"I s-swear man, take my money . . . m-my wallet . . . I only have twenty bucks in it, but take anything you want . . . T-the c-credit cards, the watch, anything! Oh G-God, just please don't hurt me!"

"Hey, shh, shhh, it's alright kid, it'll be alright," Angel comforted easily, shaking the boy to show some sort of camaraderie. "You know that don't you?"

Still crying silently, the boy shook his head. 

"Well you are man, there's no doubt about that. You're gonna help make life what it should be. You're gonna help make history . . ." He gave a last little sneer. " . . . _End_." Suddenly, he changed as the boy gaped at him in horror. Before the boy could scream, Angel had already lunged his fangs into the boy's neck, drawing out a stream of blood. The boy convulsed against him and eventually went limp as Angel let the blood spill from the wound down his neck. He was careful not to drink the liquid. Retracting his fangs, Angel loosened his hold on the boy to smear one hand in the flowing blood. He then dropped the boy carelessly and approached Acathla. 

He chanted solemnly the words as he had read them in the book and brought one hand around the handle of the sword. With an impatient smile, he tugged on it. It wasn't budging. His eyes widened when he began to grasp the sword tighter, struggling with it, but to no avail. The sword refused to move from its nestled position in Acathla's chest. 

"Dammit!" he exploded with a wild growl. He kicked and smacked the statue with rage. Maybe he could _pummel_ the apocalypse out of it. "Why the hell won't it work?! Why?!"

Manny and Louis cowered in fear. "I don't know, Boss," Louis mumbled. "Maybe . . . maybe we could try stealing some more books on Acathla . . . maybe ransack the library, see if we can find anything more about the ritual."

Angel suddenly brightened, gazing at Acathla with renewed inspiration. Shrugging an arm around Dru, he pursed his lips into thoughtful languor. "Yeah . . . or _anyone_."

Dawn showered Buffy with morning's warmth and sliced her closed eyelids with sunlight. Stirring, she shuddered and tried to rise from a bed of grass, feeling her limbs cloaked in numbness. The heavy weight of someone's head rolled off her arm, and she straightened, suppressing a cry of surprise. She blinked, gazing around herself in confusion. Expecting to see the secure, safe walls of her bedroom, she searched her mind, trying to find an explanation as to why she was greeted by cold tombstones instead. And then the events of last night came flooding back to her. 

Sitting up, she grimaced and gripped her throbbing head. She wondered if it was possible to die from emotional hangover. If so, then this was probably what it felt like. Looking down, she saw Spike snoring softly into the grass right beside her.

She frowned and flexed her arm, which had apparently served as Spike's pillow for the night. She stared down at him with a critical eye. He lay with one arm splayed across his face, shielding his delicate white skin from the sun. Absently, she mused over the ivory, almost feminine paleness of his complexion. _Guess_ _the fog-ridden climate of London does nothing for a nice toasty tan_, she thought, cocking her head at his still-sleeping form. Her eyes traveled across his face, noting how his hard, chiseled features seemed nearly boyishly soft when he was sleeping. His mouth that usually delivered biting epithets in a moment's blow was softened and slightly agape, puffing out little breaths. Restless curls of bleached hair fell downwards into his face, framing it in a way that made him look reminiscent of the etchings of Apollo Buffy had seen in English class. Buffy could tell why Drusilla used to swoon over him. He was handsome and unintentionally soft when he wasn't speaking or moving or fully conscious. Or when he was in pain, crying into her lap, like last night. 

Suddenly Buffy became aware of what she was doing. She was actually looking at Spike in a favorable light. The way she was looking at Spike as he slept seemed to be filled with the kind of intimacy that characterized the afterglow, post-coitus. The kind of experience she was supposed to have with Angel. Blushing for reasons she couldn't understand, she roughly nudged Spike awake with her foot to break out of her self-consciousness. 

He snorted awake crudely. Blinking away the morning sun, he propped himself on his elbows, yawning. He cleared his eyes of blurriness and frowned when he finally saw Buffy crouching in the grass in front of him, surrounded by a halo of light. He almost mistook her for an apparition with the way the light reflected off her golden hair into a myriad of sparkling highlights. He squinted and finally realized that the lovely angel staring at him was in fact that annoying, shrewish, blonde Slayer who thrived on making his life hell. So he sat up fully, clutching his head. 

"Hey," she mumbled darkly in greeting. 

He gazed around their sepulchral surroundings. "Where are we?"

"The cemetery. It looks like we fell asleep here last night." She suddenly turned a beat-red when uttering the innocent little sentence, as if it carried more innuendo than it was supposed to. 

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck to get rid of the little stalks of grass that coated him after a night spent camping by accident. "Oh yeah. Right after you attacked me and nearly tried to impale me with a stake."

Buffy made an annoyed little scoff, narrowing her eyes. "No, it was right after you started blubbering like a baby in my arms."

Spike shot her a disgusted, offended glower. "Did nothing of the sort," he sniffed.

"You're kidding me, right? I was right here, you made for some major-blubbering action. You were one sob away from a total girly blub-fest."

Spike clenched his teeth and glared hatefully at her. "Not that I did, but I would say that the situation called for it, wouldn't you?" he spat vehemently. 

Buffy immediately shrunk with guilt. Stung, she knew he was right. Of course he was right. He had poured his heart out and rightfully so. She herself planned to hole herself in a dark room for some length of time and cry her eyes out sometime soon. When he had sobbed into her arms last night, her heart wrenched with sympathy. So why was she making fun of him, deriding him in his pain? Maybe because Spike just . . . brought it out of her. 

"You're right," she murmured, staring blankly into her lap. 

"What's this? The prickly prat of a Slayer actually admitting that she's _wrong_? This will go down into the annals of history as a first."

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy sighed, cutting into his intense tone of hostile sarcasm tiredly. "Is it possible to communicate with you like a human being without getting my mistakes thrown back in my face?"

"Depends on whether I like you or not. So I guess the answer is a world of damning and fiery "no"."

Despite the caustic banter between the two, Buffy was surprised with the generally benign tone Spike was addressing her in. The fact that he still felt inclined to verbally spar with her was surprising considering she was the one who had let her boyfriend ruin Spike's life. At the thought, her cheeks burned with a rising storm of guilt. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered suddenly and abruptly, surprising Spike. 

He cocked his head at her confusedly. "Didn't think my distaste for you would cut you that deep---"

"No, Spike . . . I'm sorry . . . I-I'm sorry for everything I haven't done . . . f-for not s-saving Dru and Munitz----" She could feel the ocean of tears start to fall in a deluge across her cheeks as she started to babble. Spike just paled, as if he had momentarily forgotten and had found peace in that split-second of forgetting. With her crying, he was filled with razor-edged pain again and his tumultuous blue eyes flashed. He quickly had gotten up on his feet and aggressively brushed the grass from his clothes. Then he stood, looking as if he didn't know what to do with himself. 

"Buffy---" he mumbled quietly.

"No Spike, please . . . I know it doesn't mean anything, I know I've said all of this already and it won't ever, ever make a difference, but----"

"You're sorry, I know!" He yelled, kicking the ground futilely. Suddenly he looked down at her, his voice growing hushed and steely and poisonous. "You're right, it doesn't help. So you can stop your sniveling and whining and your martyr-ly do-gooding routine, 'cause I know what's behind it, Buffy. It's not even about _me._ I'm not fool enough to think that all these tears spilled and all this angst and hurt and pain is over me, one who's only served to annoy the hell out of you and vice-versa. You don't really care that I've lost the love of my life and my brother, the only family I've had----you think you do, but you don't. You just _want _to. You want to make yourself believe you care. Maybe if you do that, then you won't have to think about that murderer you screwed. The monster, that--that_ thing_ you let crawl between your legs. You think that by saying sorry, I'll just absolve you for fucking around with a killer . . . don't you?"

She just kept crying softly, shaking her head slowly as she crouched in the grass. Flinging himself back down on his knees, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly and savagely, screaming, "Don't you?!" She could have broken in his arms for she wasn't a slayer now, just a frail, defeated girl. He almost expected her to strike back at him with alarming force, sending him sailing into the air and across the cemetery, but she never raised a hand against him. Suddenly Spike paused and realized how her slight arms were shaking uncontrollably under his white-knuckled fists. Her day-old, caked makeup was running in black streaks across her face and in her eyes was a spark of pain that seemed even deeper than his. Her whole body was convulsing with sobs under his hands and it was then when he understood how his words, spoken merely out of anger, had struck a wounding, profound chord. So he loosened his grip and stared at her. He hadn't imagined that she could possibly even touch the enormity of what he was feeling, but she felt all the same things---possibly more. His hateful frown softened as he let her cry the way she had let him do the night before. He felt any anger towards her dissipate as she bowed her head and continued to sob. Conflicted, he bit his lip and didn't know what to do. But suddenly, he perked, as if remembering something and he grabbed Buffy's wrist abruptly. Surprised she gave a slight cry and tried to wrench away, but found him staring at her watch. 

"9:45," he murmured, dipping his head back up to stare absently into space. 

"Wha---" Buffy started in confusion as he sprang back up and grabbed his jacket. "What are you doing?"

"I've got 15 minutes to get down to the bus depot."

Buffy furrowed her brows in alarm. "Bus depot? What? Where you going?"

Spike shrugged his duster on carelessly. "The ticket's for somewhere off near the border. Think I can make it to Mexico by evening practically."

"Mexico? What's in Mexico?" She felt a panic surge within her and she didn't know why.

"Besides an abundance of man-size cockroaches, I don't rightly know. But I don't give a toss either way. All I know is that it's not here."

"B-But . . . what about Giles? What about Sunnydale?"

He gave her a cold look. "Does it look like Sunnydale's been all that good to me?" 

She shrunk. "No," she admitted. "But Giles. Your father. Are you going to leave without telling him?"

Blankly, he drew a cigarette from his pocket and lit it expertly before drawing deep drags off of it. "Hadn't thought about it, but it looks that way doesn't it?"

"But . . . don't you even care? Don't you care that you might be hurting him or---"

"Look Buffy, it's been pretty obvious that me and the old man aren't the "let's go out for a rousing game of catch" father-son duo. He's never shown a sign of caring about me before, why would he now?"

"Maybe he doesn't because you won't let him! You keep shutting him out whenever something happens, you don't even give him the opportunity to show him how much he loves you---"

"Loves!" A contemptuous scoff. "Right, the old chuffer _loves_ me. That's why he's ignored me for seventeen years. That's why he never bothered to call when I was cold and hungry and living in a one-room flat with my mum to see if he could make it better. That's why he's never sent a birthday card once, not _once_ to show me he even remembers the day. That's _love_."

"But it goes both ways," Buffy insisted. "If only you could give him a sign that you even want those things, it would make a difference. Help him, show him that you actually do care."

"I think that's a great idea," a grim voice called from behind them. Turning around, Buffy and Spike faced a bruised and slightly bloody Xander with fear painted across his face. "Because right now, he needs all the help he can get. He's been captured by Angelus and Drusilla."


	22. Allies

Chapter 22: Allies

"When?" Buffy asked, whisking through the halls of Sunnydale High as Spike and Xander trailed behind. 

"Early this morning. Dru and two henchmen burst into the library, trashed it, and grabbed Giles before we could stop them. Willow, Oz, Ms. Calendar and I were with him the whole night, studying up on this Acathla character----"

Buffy paused before entering the library and turned to face Xander. "Acathla?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

Xander went blank before realizing Buffy had been absent for most of last night's revelations. "That's right, you weren't there." He shot a dark sideways look at Spike to indicate that he was the unsavory cause for this. "Last night we got word from the museum that a huge artifact had been stolen by two vampires. One male vampire described as 'tall, dark and handsome'----"

"I'd like to contest to that," Spike muttered under his breath.

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy deadpanned without turning around.

"----And a girl described as pale, skinny and psycho."

Spike straightened and furrowed his brows tightly. "That's my Dru, all right."

"Dru and Angel at the museum? What did they want? What did they take?"

"Well after apparently going Dutch and splitting a tasty curator amongst themselves, it looks like they had their eyes on a big rock with the unfortunate name of Acathla. Giles went down to the museum and identified the missing artifact from all the pictures the curator had been studying."

"Okay . . . so . . . I'm guessing this oversized pet rock isn't all fun and games."

Xander nodded solemnly. "Try apocalypse and a whole demon dimension of pain. Apparently, the rock the dynamic duo stole contains the statue of Acathla, the guard and gatekeeper of a hell dimension. He's got this sword dealie sticking out of him. Whoever slides that baby out has unlocked whatever there is that keeps this dimension and the other from bleeding together. And from reading up, this hell dimension? Not the greatest place to make a permanent stay."

Spike leered at Xander. "Yeah, we sorta gathered that from when you said '_hell_ dimension', shagwit."

Xander ignored Spike. "All the righteous and good of the earth shall be smitten or enslaved while all the evil denizens get to party like its 1999."

Sighing, Buffy pushed back the doors to the library. "Okay, so your standard 'end-of-the-world' scenario. Got it." She stopped and surveyed the ruined state of the library grimly. "But why did they want Giles?" she murmured, still staring at the overturned shelves and ripped books. "Why did they take him?"

"I don't know. Probably since he's the go-to guy with the magic. Maybe they're having trouble opening the portal."

Buffy turned to Xander with a look of decision. "That buys us some time."

Spike stared down at the floor and shuffled darkly. "What do you think they're gonna do to him?" he mumbled in a small voice. 

Buffy shrugged, trying to disguise fear with initiative. "Squeeze out any information Giles has about Acathla. Torture him until he talks. We've got to find him as soon as possible." She stared steadily at Spike, who nodded slowly in response. 

"Buffy----" Xander started, staring down at his hands uneasily. "If . . . I mean _when_ we do find Giles . . . what then? What are you going to do? Angel means business, you know. _He's going to end the world----_"

"I'm not going to let him!" Buffy replied, her voice unusually sharp, her eyes cold. "I won't."

Xander nodded testily, but squinted at her hard. "How?"

Buffy threw up her hands helplessly. "I don't know! I mean, I _do know_, but----"

"You knew Angel was in town, didn't you Buffy?" Xander's voice was soft and deliberate.

She spun around with her eyes wide. "What?"

"You knew. And somehow . . . you knew he was going to turn." He tried to make it sound like a question, but it came out as a statement. "You did. And you didn't tell us."

Buffy stood stock-still, overcome with guilt. "Xander-----"

"You didn't come to us. Your friends, your family. You didn't trust us enough to tell us about him. Why?"

"I . . . I don't know . . ."

Xander hardened and threw his hands up in the air. "Well great, Buffy. That's just great, you know? Because you kept this whole thing a secret from us, Giles' been kidnapped, Willow's in the hospital---"

Buffy stopped and straightened. "What? What is Willow doing in the hospital?"

Xander stared at her in a chilling, damning way. "One of the vampires knocked a bookshelf over and Willow was on the other side of it. She has a concussion and a broken arm. She's been knocked unconscious and she hasn't woken up."

Buffy paled. "Oh my god."

Xander nodded, as if this proved the point. "You see, Buffy?" he said in a harsh tone. "This isn't a game. Because you lied to all of us, lives are at stake."

"I know!" She knew all too well. 

"You have to kill him Buffy, you know that."

Spike shrugged. "For once, I agree with the shagwit."

Buffy winced, knowing the truth in the words, but not wanting to hear. "Again, I know." In her mind, she thought about how this would take place. Would it just be like last night where she would have the opportunity, but lack the courage to finally end it? How could she murder the person she loved most in the world? Okay, so he was a apocalypse-aspiring, heartless demon. But somewhere inside . . . there had to be something left of her boyfriend. There had to be. "B-but . . . what if there's another way?"

"Another way? How can there be another way?" Xander demanded. 

"I-I don't know. Maybe the spell . . . maybe Ms. Calendar could restore his soul through the gypsy curse. She translated it, why wouldn't she be able to do it?"

Xander squinted at her. "Oh I get it. All _you_ care about is getting your boyfriend back, regardless of how many people he's killed or how many lives he's ruined." Spike clenched his teeth visibly.

Stung, Buffy stared at her best friend with dismay and anger. She could handle such words from Spike, but from Xander? "I'm just saying it's an option."

"No, I think you're saying that you're still too ridden with puppy-love to face the facts. Grow up, Buffy, this is real life!"

"I know real life! I'm the one who protects it everyday, not you Xander! I've grown up faster than you'll ever have to! You won't ever understand what it's like!"

"Oh that's right, because you're the Slayer. Well news flash, Buffy: Just because you're the slayer doesn't mean you get to go around protecting whoever the hell you want to protect just because he's your undead honey!"

"God Xander! Don't you get it? I've thought about this. Do you know what kind of risk it would be if I just barreled in and tried to save Giles? And who knows if Angel already found out the secret to opening the portal and is doing that as we speak?"

Xander shook his head firmly. "No. Giles would never tell."

"You don't know that. You don't know what they could be doing to him. Now if we restore Angel's soul as soon as possible, there won't be a chance of him opening the portal. He'd let Giles go. And we wouldn't even have to risk anything to stop it---"

"No, _you_ wouldn't have to risk anything. Soon as it's all over, you'd go running back to Angel's arms like nothing happened. Who cares if he killed all of Spike's family, tortured Giles and put Willow in the hospital?"

"This isn't about vengeance! This is about the best alternative!"

"Yes, which is to send his King-of-Pain, brooding ass to hell!"

"And you say that _I'm_ being immature? God Xander, I know your ego has been bruised a couple times by Angel, but this isn't about him stealing your high school crush, get over it!"

Freezing at her callous reference to her rejection of him last year, Xander clenched his teeth and shook his head in fury. "Right now, I can't even see what that was about. Angel can have you. I hope you both get sent to hell."

Buffy was shocked at her best friend's statement. Before her mouth could drop open as her eyes welled with tears, Spike stalked up to Xander and grabbed him by the collar. "Hey lay off, Harris, alright?"

This wasn't right. This was all topsy-turvy. Xander was the one attacking her and _Spike_ was the one defending her? The world Buffy knew was slipping fast from her grasp.

Xander looked up at Spike with the same venom he directed at Buffy. "Why should I?" he asked sneeringly.

"Because she's the goddamn Slayer, that's why. The girl makes mistakes, but when it comes down to it, she's the only one who'll save all our asses in the face of the apocalypse. So maybe you should listen to what she thinks best."

Xander gaped at Spike in disbelief. "Spike, Angel practically killed your whole family!"

"Yeah, and I'm not willing for him to make it one more. He's got my father and God knows what he's doing to him. So I'll do everything in my power to get him back." At the last minute, he turned to Buffy, who was staring at him in awe, and said flippantly, "I still think you should kill him, though."

Buffy cracked a small smile, but her mouth straightened into a firm line when she gazed down at Xander. "Where's Ms. Calendar?"

Sighing, Xander slumped with quiet disdain. "At the hospital with Oz and Willow."

"Get her. Tell her the plan. Help her with the spell. Meanwhile, I'll will track down Angel and Dru and see if we can stop Angel before he opens the portal."

Xander widened his eyes. "You mean . . . you _are_ going to kill him?"

Buffy started to go through the weapons box Giles had always kept in the library. "We need a back-up plan don't we?" She rummaged through the weapons box in dismay. "Dammit. There aren't enough supplies here. We have to go home, I've got more weapons in my room."

Xander cocked an eyebrow at Buffy. "Who's 'we'?"

Buffy glanced awkwardly at Spike. For some reason, she had come to think of him as a partner of sorts. Maybe it was because they had gone through the same things, maybe it was because they understood each other, and maybe it was because of his recent defense of her. Whatever it was, they felt like allies. No--more than that, they _were._ "Me and Spike. We'll stop by my house and wait for you to tell us if the spell worked or not."

Xander considered this and nodded dourly, finally making his way out of the library. Buffy glanced over at Spike with a resolute expression. "Ready?" 

Spike's face held similar resolution. "Right behind you, Slayer," he said, following her out the library door. 


	23. No Turning Back

****

Author's Note: Here's a nice long chapter to make up for my rather infrequent updates. Keep on reviewing, please! Oh, and I said it before, but some of the dialogue is taken directly from "Becoming, Part 2". 

Chapter 23: No Turning Back

The atmosphere of the small, crowded hospital room was sterile, cold and grim. Ms. Calendar sat perched in a chair crying softly as Oz fought tears of his own by Willow's bedside. He grasped Willow's hand as she slept, desperately clinging onto her out the fear that she could slip away at any time. Usually non-emotive, he sat whispering despairingly, "Come on Willow, baby. Come on, come back to me." He implored her unconscious form so fervently that he didn't notice a figure sidle up next to him and the bed. 

"How is she?" Xander asked softly.

Oz didn't look up as he smoothed Willow's damp forehead. "The same," he murmured. 

With Xander's entrance, Ms. Calendar brusquely jumped out of her chair. "Have you found him?" she demanded, her face pinched white with worry. 

Xander shook his head gently, still staring down at Willow. "Buffy and Spike are out looking for him." He looked back up at Ms. Calendar gravely. "They want us to perform a spell."

Ms. Calendar wiped the tears from her eyes and frowned. "A spell? What kind of spell? A spell for Giles?"

"No. For Angel." He emphasized the last name with harsh bitterness. 

Her frown deepened. "A spell for Angel? Why?"

Clenching his teeth, Xander settled into a hospital chair. "That seems to be the question of the hour. For some reason, Buffy and Spike think they have their reasons."

"Well what's the spell?" Ms. Calendar insisted impatiently. "If Buffy thinks it's useful in helping Giles, then maybe we could try it."

"No, Buffy thinks it's useful for no one besides herself!" Xander exploded, jarring everyone in the room besides the peacefully sleeping Willow. "All she cares about is returning Angel to his nice, sensitive-guy, soulful-schmoe package so they can go _steady _again!"

Ms. Calendar cocked her head and furrowed her brows. "She wants to restore Angel's soul? That's . . . oh my god." She suddenly turned from Xander and began pacing the room frantically. "Why the hell didn't I think of that sooner?!"

Xander widened his eyes in amazement. "You actually think you can----"

"Well I had the spell translated in front of me all of this time! That whole time Giles was kidnapped, and oh God, probably being tortured-----I had it! I could have stopped this before anything had happened to him!" She gripped her head in guilt, but then fumbled through the pocket of her dress for a crumpled piece of paper. "Here! Right here, I had it!" She scanned its contents quickly. "Here, the directions and materials are all listed. An Orb of Theselus, a couple of funky herbs . . . Angel could have his soul restored by nightfall."

"But why?" Xander exclaimed severely. "Why should we restore his soul? He's done nothing but cause pain as a vampire, and just _nothing_ as a souled one. Why the hell should we even give him that kind of redemption when he doesn't even deserve it?!"

"Because it could save Giles!" Ms. Calendar cried sharply. "If we restore Angel's soul, then we _know_ he'd let Giles go. And he would never open Acathla's portal. It's one of the best chances we've got!"

"One of the best chances?! One of the best?! How do we even know that Angel isn't killing Giles and opening the portal right now?! Try no chance! You said yourself that the restoration wouldn't work till nightfall! That's hours from now!"

"I don't know for sure. This kind of spell has been rarely done, and all cases vary. We don't how long it'll take for Angel to regain his soul, so if we do the spell, the sooner, the better."

"And why won't an average staking work? 'Cause last time I checked, lunging a piece of wood through a vampire's heart? Very efficient way to get the job done."

Ms. Calendar shook her head firmly. "Angel's from the Master's bloodline, Xander. He has extraordinary power, the kind of power that surpasses any other vampire's. Besides, I don't know if Buffy could defeat him even if she tried."

"Buffy's the _Slayer._ Chosen to protect helpless people like us who aren't in a position to doubt her abilities. Why do you think she can't------"

"She slept with him, Xander," Ms. Calendar stated flatly, causing both Oz and Xander to stiffen and stare at her. 

Xander shook his head and began to fidget. "What are you talking about?"

"She's in love with him. So she slept with him. And it turned him. It made him loose his soul. I figured it out. That was the clause, Angel's "true moment of happiness". Don't you understand? It was Buffy's first time, the moment she finally let herself be with the one she loved most in the world . . . and he turned _evil_. It's enough to destroy her."

Xander was shocked. He stared at the floor blankly as he tried to fight through the storm of confusion brewing within him. Finally, he gazed up at Ms. Calendar. "You think she won't be able to take him?" he asked quietly.

Ms. Calendar sighed wearily and rested her chin in her hand. "I wouldn't be able to."

Xander nodded slowly and gazed down at Oz. "What do you think, man?"

Oz still had his gaze fixed on Willow, his hand squeezing hers just a bit tighter. "I think . . . " He suddenly leaned over and kissed Willow's forehead gently before glancing back up at Xander. " . . . I think that the most important thing is stopping this before anyone else gets hurt." 

Staring down at his best friend, looking so small in her thin hospital gown, Xander swallowed hard before nodding again. After a few moments of silence, he finally asked Ms. Calendar, "What do you need?"

Perking up, Ms. Calendar sighed a breath of relief. "Here's the list. You can find all the herbs at the Magic Box downtown, and there's an orb of Theselus back in my classroom." She smiled sheepishly. "I've been using it as a paperweight."

With the restraint of a soldier, Xander took the list from her and started to exit to the room. "Got it," he mumbled, but Ms. Calendar soon called him back, prompting him to turn around. 

"Xander?"

"Yeah? 

She clasped her hands tightly together. "Hurry."

******************************

Buffy and Spike decided to make a pit stop at Willy's before returning home. Under the threats of eminent beating and torture administered by Buffy as Spike sat back in amusement, Willy the bartender waveringly caved and provided them the address of Drusilla and Angel's haven. 

"The old mansion on Crawford Street," Buffy murmured as they made their way down Revello Drive. "I should have known he would choose that place as a hideout. He was always a fan of the whole Gothic architectural thing."

Spike leered and pursed his lips. "And you still refuse to question the poofter's orientation? You must be thick in the head, Blondie."

Buffy merely responded by grimacing slightly. She was used to his playful insults by now. For Spike, it was like casual small talk. "I just hope Angel and Dru aren't performing the ritual as we speak."

Spike curled his slender fingers around a cigarette in his mouth as he puffed out a curl of smoke. "We'd be able to tell, wouldn't we? The atmosphere would suddenly go all "Ninth Circle of Hell", I figure."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "And we want to stop things before it comes to that, brain-trust." She suddenly gazed at the Summers house they were approaching absently. "I hope I have enough weapons left in my room. I swear, if Dawn did her little explore-y thing in my weapons chest, her name's Mud."

He dropped the cigarette to the ground and stared at her steadily. "So we're really doing this? You really plan to kill him?"

Buffy glanced up at him sharply and a little defensively. "We don't know . . . _I _don't know yet. It's just a our fallback plan, nothing's definite."

"Equipping ourselves with an armory seems a little extravagant for a fallback plan."

Buffy threaded a hand through her hair carelessly, stomping through her front lawn. "Well possible apocalypse calls for extravagant measures." Suddenly, she paused, reluctant to storm through the front door of her house so conspicuously. She hadn't been home for more than twenty-four hours. Her mother had probably noticed her absence and was waiting for her in a parental rage. And the last thing Buffy wanted to deal with was her mother. So she edged towards the huge oak with the branches that hung conveniently near her bedroom window and began hiking her boots up the rough bark. Grunting as she struggled, she turned around as Spike stood at the bottom chuckling at her ineptness at tree climbing. 

"So you can save the world, but you can't climb a tree? I feel so much secure knowing the people has you as their protector."

Glaring at him, she hugged the tree only one foot up from the ground. "Well make with a chivalry and _help_, Sir Walter Raleigh."

Smirking, Spike brought his hands around her waist and lifted her up. She felt so slight in his arms, not a slayer, but the real, soft, well-shaped girl she was. And she smelled like vanilla. Holding her limber form as she ascended higher in the tree, he suddenly felt nervous and ill at ease. Backing away with speed, he waved a hand at her. "Umm . . . I think you can handle the rest."

He waited until she had made it up on the roof before he scaled the tree himself. Following her through her bedroom window, he grunted, popping his long legs in. Straightening, he wiped some leaves off his duster as she leaned down to grab some weapons hidden under her bed. "So you don't think we're jumping the gun here?" he said suddenly. "You don't think we should wait for Xander before we even worry about weapons and that sort?"

Surprised, she glared at him, still crouching on her knees. "I don't get you. First you're telling me to dust Angel, now you're _for_ restoring his soul?"

Spike shrugged. "I dunno. I've been thinking about it is all. About this whole idea of a vampire with a soul."

She stared at him, mystified. "What are you talking about, Spike?"

He fixed his intense, sapphire gaze to her in a flash, sending an unsettling shiver down her spine. "If it'd work for Angel, it'd work for Drusilla too, wouldn't it?"

Understanding, her eyes went wide. "You aren't saying what I think you're saying."

"You think whatever you damn please. I'm serious."

"You want to restore Drusilla's _soul_? That's insane!"

"What's insane? Why the hell can you consider it and I can't?"

"Because . . . because it's different!"

"What's different about it? You're gonna restore your boyfriend's soul so he'll go back to being your boyfriend. Why can't I do the same for Dru?"

"That's not why I'm restoring Angel's soul. I'm restoring it to _save_ _the world_. This isn't the semi-annul soul sale where we dole out souls to every vamp that comes a-knockin'. This is special."

"No, it's special because it's _you_," Spike sneered harshly. "Face it Buffy, you have some convoluted sense of moral superiority that you wield over the rest of us. You think that being the Slayer gives you a license to do whatever the hell you want. You make up your own idea of what's right and wrong, even when it contradicts itself." He neared her, rasping out sharp words with a scowl. "You're just a bloody hypocrite."

Her teeth on edge, Buffy glowered back at him. "I may be a hypocrite, but I'm the Slayer. And as the slayer, I'm saying that this isn't even about Angel."

"It isn't? So you're telling me that you haven't even thought once of what it'd be like to get your beloved poofter back after all the shit goes down? You aren't thinking of how bloody marvelous it would be to have him back to his studly, brooding self, worshipping the ground you walk on? That thought hasn't even popped in your head?"

Taken aback, Buffy twitched with discomfort. Spike had struck a chord. Which wasn't so surprising. Damn him for being so damn intuitive. "No . . ." she said in an unconvincingly meek voice. 

Satisfied, Spike laid back on Buffy's bed. "Right. And here I was doubting you."

Buffy shook her head resolutely. "Still, Spike, it's different. Angel is the main player in this whole impending Armageddon thing. This isn't all about what I want. You just want to turn Dru back out of your own selfishness."

Incensed, his eyes went wide and his voice pitched up in anger. "My own selfishness? My own _selfishness?!_ I'm not the one who caused this out of _her own _selfishness! I'm not one who unleashed a killer out on the world just because she gave her boyfriend a happy! I just want things back to the way they were! I want my life back!"

Buffy flinched at his attack of her, but didn't relent. She maintained her even, adamant gaze. "But what about Dru? You want her to be back to the way she was, but guess what? She never will be. She's a vampire, nothing will change that. You want to impose a soul on her. You don't care how much that'll torment her for all of eternity----"

"She hasn't done anything wrong! She's just been a pawn of Angel's, she's never---"

"She's killed already. She's tasted blood. She can never come back from that. And if you give her a soul, she'll remember it forever." She shook her head solemnly. "That's not fair to her. The guilt over what she did . . . and how she _is_ . . . it'll kill her, everyday . . . believe me, I know. You don't have a relationship with a person like that. It's too hard and . . . and heartbreaking. It hurts you almost as much as it hurts them." She paused, suddenly realizing that she wasn't speaking to Spike anymore. She was taking the words from her heart, trying to convince herself of the truth. 

Spike was still filled with quiet anger. "We're both suckers for the pain," he mumbled softly, staring down at his hands. He glanced up at her pointedly. "Especially you."

She swallowed hard. "I don't want to be. I----You have to know that this isn't about how I feel for Angel. And it shouldn't be about how you feel for Drusilla. They're . . . the people we fell in love with are gone." The words fell like a heavy thud in the air and hung at the bottom, daring either one to speak. Spike stared at her and opened his mouth to say something, but instead fell to playing with the contents of Buffy's cluttered bedside table. Flipping through strewn and scattered papers, he suddenly picked up a wavy piece of red wood. 

"Mr. Pointy," he murmured, smiling a little as he turned it around in his hands. He looked up at her. "You kept it."

Buffy gave him a small grin and nodded. "I told you I liked it."

He sniffed. "I thought you would have used it for scrap wood."

She came to the bed where he was still reclining and took it from him. Sitting next to him, she held it with a bewildered little smile. "Why did you think that?"

He played with one of her throw pillows darkly, not facing her. "Well I dunno, we seem to have this thing between us, don't we? This 'hating each other thing'."

Buffy frowned, shifting her weight uncomfortably. "I don't hate you. I never did. Unless you hate me . . ." she trailed off nervously, looking down at her hands. Looking up, she found Spike squinting at her with a soft expression.

"I should, shouldn't I?"

Falling silent again, the two locked eyes in a lingering, serious look that contained something neither one wanted to recognize. The air was thick with something indistinguishable and it was making both of them nervous. But suddenly, the bedroom door slammed thunderously, breaking the moment of confusing unease. "What the _hell _is going on here?!" a voice raged. 

Buffy turned around with lightening speed, widening her eyes in dismay. "Mom?"

************************************

"_Quod perditum, inventieur . . . Not of the dead, nor of the living. Spirits of the interregnum, I call . . ."_

Ms. Calendar sat with a bowl of herbs and a round, crystal orb in front of her. Her body convulsed as she whispered each word with her eyes closed. 

Xander glanced worriedly at Oz, who gripped Willow's hand at her bedside. "Is this supposed to happen?" he yelled through a sudden windy roar that ripped through the room. 

"_Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte . . ."_ Her breath was coming out in sharp, rough pants and her eyelids fluttered maniacally. Her body was slumping in her chair as she appeared to get weaker and weaker with every word uttered.

"Ms. Calendar?" Oz called out in vain, getting up to shake her. 

Her head suddenly whipped back and her eyes snapped open, pools of terrifying ebony. Her voice suddenly came out as the howling cry of a banshee. "_Nici mort, nici al fiintei . . ."_

"Ms. Calendar!" 

The words were tumbling out of her gaping mouth in a frenzied maelstrom. "_Lasa orbita sa fie vasul care-I va transporta, sufletul la el!"_

"Stop it!" Xander shouted as a small circle of furious wind surrounded Ms. Calendar, shaking everything in the room in a mad rumble. Willow suddenly began crying in her unconscious state as the bed quaked beneath her. Oz covered her body with his own to keep her from falling off the bed. But Ms. Calendar continued on relentlessly, as if possessed. 

"_Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie! Acum! Acum! Acum!" _The tornado swirling around Ms. Calendar suddenly spiraled together with a loud _whooshing noise_ and streamed into the small orb on the table, causing it to glow. Her body still shook, but her head snapped back down as she shrieked her first understandable word. "_NOW!"_

Everything stopped. The wind died down like nothing had happened. Exhausted, Ms. Calendar sank into her chair as Xander and Oz looked around cautiously. Seeing that it was all over, Xander neared Ms. Calendar and shook her gently. 

"Is it done?"

Her eyes opened again and her breathing slowed to normal. "Soon."

*******************************

"I said what the hell is going on here?!!" 

"Mom it isn't what it looks like-------"

"It had better not be what it looks like!! Because I'll tell you what it looks like! It looks like you were about to have sex with Spike! In my own house!"

Spike sprang up from the bed in horrified protest, but Buffy clenched her teeth. "Mom, we were just sitting on the bed-----"

"You had a boy! Alone! In your room! And not only that, you've been _gone_ for more than twenty-four hours! God Buffy, what the hell am I going to do with you?!!" Mrs. Summers paced the floor, gripping her forehead in fury. "Did you know that I almost called the police, Buffy? I've been worried to _death_ about you! You don't call, you're out all hours of the night, and you bring boys up to your room! You're out of control, Buffy!! How am I supposed to control you?! Tell me, Buffy how?!" She gave her daughter a hard, infuriated look with her arms crossed. 

"Mom, I didn't-----"

She threw her hands up in the air. "Don't even try Buffy," she yelled. "Don't try and give me another excuse. Because I've been struggling. I've been struggling to understand how I can try so hard to relocate my life in another town because _you_ get expelled from school . . . for setting your school gym on _fire!_"

Spike stared at Buffy as he began to shake with laughter. "You----and----fire------school," he panted through gagging laughs, but soon quieted down when both Summers women glowered at him. 

Buffy turned back to her mother. "You don't understand."

"Damn right I don't understand! I don't understand how my daughter neglects to see how hard I work to give her a good life and instead runs wild with boys and------"

"Mom, I'm not like that!"

Mrs. Summers sighed, trying to regain her composure. "Buffy, I understand that you're young and reckless and think you can get away with everything-----"

"I'm not young! That's the point! I've never gotten to be young!" Buffy sprang up from the bed and faced her mother with the same fire she employed before staking a vamp. "I've been through things you've never imagined. I've had to put up with so much---"

"Buffy, I've read the parenting books. I know you think you've got this big teen angst cloud hanging over your head, but it's no excuse to---"

"You don't know anything! Don't you get it Mom? Haven't you ever even suspected?" Buffy was wavering, imploring her mother to see the truth so that she would not have to say it. "Didn't you ever wonder why I have so many crosses in my room? And why I always slip away at night? Or why, every week, you have to wash bloodstains out of my clothes? Or do you just refuse to see what's been staring you in the face all this time?"

"I'm not here to learn about what kind of crazy things you do at night, I just-----"

"Well I'm telling you, Mom. You don't want to learn it, but here it is. I'm a slayer. Not 'a' but 'the'. The Chosen One. In all the world, I was called to kill vampires-----"

Mrs. Summers shook her head with disgusted disbelief. "Oh God, Buffy, please! If you think this acts as a valid excuse for your behavior, you are sorely mistaken."

"It's not an excuse! It's the truth! I hunt vampires and save the world on a daily basis! I don't have _time_ to go running around with boys and set fire to gyms just because I've got a raging adolescent itch! And I'm sorry that it doesn't say anything about the Slayer in all your parenting books, but it's for real, Mom. This is what I am."

Mrs. Summers stared at her defiant daughter with a set jaw before finally shaking her head again. "No. No, I don't believe it."

Buffy threw her hands up in the air. "I don't care if you don't believe it! If you don't, there's nothing I can do for you! And you know why? Because I have to save the world . . _. again_." Picking up a hefty axe, Buffy ignored her mother's aghast shock and moved towards the door, but Mrs. Summers soon blocked her. 

"Where do you think you're going?" she stated in a cautionary, hard tone. 

Buffy stared at her. "I told you. I have to save the world from the apocalypse."

Mrs. Summers laughed bitterly in Buffy's face. "Don't be delusional. Apocalypse, monsters, demons, vampires, they don't exist. It's just me and you, Buffy. You can't run away from this."

"I'm not running away! For once, I'm finally not running away!" She tried to walk past her mother, but Mrs. Summers grabbed her solidly. 

"You're not going anywhere."

Buffy shrugged her mother off with more force than she intended, sending her sailing into her closet door. Picking up a sword and a bag of weapons, she cocked her head at Spike, who began to follow her out of the room. But Mrs. Summers stood up with a severe look of anger and said in a shaking voice, "You walk out the door, don't _ever_ expect to come back."

Buffy stared at her mother, her eyes welling with tears. But she put one foot gingerly in front of the other and walked out of the bedroom. Mrs. Summers heaved a heavy sigh and slumped back down to the floor, beginning to cry. 

"You okay?" Spike asked gently as they descended down the staircase. 

Buffy shifted the bag on her shoulder stoically. "Yeah," she lied. "I'm fine." Going to open the front door, she was suddenly advanced upon by Xander, who burst in. 

"Buffy!" he gasped, slumping over on his knees. 

"Xander?" She furrowed her brows at him. "What's going on, what's happened?" Paling, she gripped his arm seriously. "Is it the spell? D-did it work?"

There was something blatantly hopeful and expectant in her eyes that Xander couldn't stand. He wished he could be a bigger person and see past it and be the bigger person. He wished he could forget about an ego that had been bruised a year ago, but at the same time, he honestly believed that this could be the right thing to do. He was helping the world, not harming it. Buffy was better off, Spike was better off, they were all better off. So he said firmly. "No. It didn't work. I just came to tell you . . . to kick his ass."

Buffy's eyes widened, but she willed herself not to crumble. Instead, she turned around and motioned to Spike. "That's the cue," she said simply. "Let's go."


	24. Illusions of Love

****

Author's Note: I know it seems like I'm taking the whole Acathla business pretty slow and that you all just want to see Angel dead already (my lips are sealed about such matters), but I feel that this chapter is especially important regarding Giles and his relationship with Spike. So please! Read on! Only a few more chapters till the big finish! 

Chapter 24: Illusions of Love

He sat, bruised, beaten and cut, still silent. His shirt hung open, displaying a number of bright red welts streaked across his chest, but still he wouldn't speak. It had been hours----hours of threats, hours of fear, hours of pain----but never hours of disclosure. He refused to open his mouth and tell the secret. Even after Angelus had taken his hand and carefully broke each finger, Giles never uttered a word. 

"Godammit man!" Angelus exploded with frustration as he leaned over a weary Giles menacingly. "Don't you see how misguided this is?! Acathla is _standing_ _right there_. Nothing you will or won't say will change that. It's only a matter of time till I find out how to open the portal . . . and if _you _won't tell me . . ." Angel sneered and flicked out a small dagger from his sleeve. " . . . I'll just kill you and find someone who _will_."

Giles gasped as the cold point of the dagger came in contact with his upper thigh, breaking through the cloth. "I . . . won't," he haggardly sighed before leveling his hateful gaze at Angelus. "And you'll never open it. Buffy will come and stake your sorry ass before it comes to that."

Angelus emitted a low chuckle. "Still think your little pink power ranger will come and save the day, do you? Who's the sorry one?"

"I'd venture to say the vampire who can't even break the mild-mannered high school librarian he went all out of his way to kidnap. And you call yourself the scourge of Europe."

A golden flash of anger ignited in Angel's eyes and he grabbed Giles by his hair. "I do and I am," he snarled. "Don't ever forget that." Jutting the dagger up against Giles' jugular, Angel looked as if he was about to loose his cool before Drusilla came sweeping in with a grand smile. 

"There, there Daddy, that's not the way to do it," Dru purred, putting a mollifying arm on Angel's shoulder. "One cannot make mincemeat pie out of our poor, poor watcher." She leaned down and curled a cold hand around Giles' cheek. Giles was too dazed to notice the touch of death upon his face. 

Angel eyed Dru suspiciously. "What are you playing at, Dru?"

Dru giggled. "Well we've dissected, trisected, vivisected 'im. Miss Edith thinks we should employ . . . more friendlier tactics." She continued caressing Giles' brow soothingly.

Angel began to smile with understanding. His childe constantly displayed useful talents every time he turned around. Siring her was one of the best decisions he had ever made. Although opening Acathla would soon edge that out of first place. "Can you get it, baby?" he murmured into her ear as his hands settled round her waist.

Dru nodded and gave a trilling laugh. "I know what he wants." Crouching down in front of him, Dru cupped Giles' face in her hands and pierced through his eyes.

*********************************

He wasn't hurting anymore. There was no more pain. The cuts and bruises and noise were gone. He felt like he was floating in a peaceful pool of white. Yet a nagging feeling remained. It was like he had forgotten to take the teakettle off the stove or the keys out of the door. Except this was bigger. It was hollow and black and terrifying. He had to remember. He had to stop it. 

"Shhhhh, shhhh." A voice soothed him liltingly, it's musical pitch distinctly feminine and young and familiar. She cooed to him as if she sensed his worry, trying her best to calm him. "Shhhh. Everything will be alright, Rupert. It'll be fine." 

Giles tried to clear the pale shrouded fog out of his eyes to reach her. And then he saw her. An angelic vision of gold and white, swirling right in front of him. She tilted her face upward to his intently. Her eyes were the blues of the stormy Mediterranean and her hair was a glittering cornfield of blonde. She looked so much like the other. The other . . . his boy. "It's . . . it's not you . . ." he panted. "It . . . it can't be . . ."

"It is," she affirmed. "I know it's been long."

"No . . . no. You're . . . but you're . . . gone . . . Emma?"

She smiled and stroked him affectionately. "Hello dear."

"You're dead." His words were dulled and heavy compared to the lightness around them.

She nodded, still smiling. "You're right. I am. I have been for a long time. But I'm still here. With you."

"It's a trick . . ."

She shook her head. "No. I'm here to help you."

"But why now? Where have you been all this time?"

"I've always been with you. With you and William. I watch over the two of you all the time."

He crumbled and shook his head. "So you've seen . . . you've seen everything. The mess I've made of his life. The mess I've made of mine."

"You've tried your best."

His voice swelled and broke. "I haven't. I've ruined him. He hates me, despises me. And I don't blame him. I don't know what to do . . ." He looked up at her earnestly. "I'm so sorry, Emma."

"Oh Rupert-----"

"No please . . . listen. I never should have left England. I was young and stupid and selfish and I abandoned you. I left you all along to shoulder the burden by yourself. And what's worse, as I grew older, I was still stupid and selfish. Not once did I contact you besides the checks I sent. I didn't even go to your funeral. I've done nothing but cause pain for you and our son."

She grew quiet and stared away from him. "The past . . ." she sighed. 

"No it's the present! He's already hard and broken and angry and in pain because of me! I've been the worst father-----"

She looked up at him carefully. "Do you want to change it?"

He stilled and stared at her with the question. "Emma . . ."

"You still have time, Rupert. You can turn him around. You can show him how much you love him . . . how much you've always loved him."

He searched her face urgently. "How?"

"Tell me. Tell me what he wants to know."

He began to shake his head slowly, conflicted. "I can't . . ." he breathed.

"I won't tell him. I won't ever tell him. I'm here to save you, Rupert. You and Buffy and the rest. And our son. Especially our son."

He didn't know how to trust her. But he wanted to, badly. "Why do I have to tell you?"

"Because I'll destroy Acathla. Because it's the key to defeating Angelus. Because I'll make sure William never has to hurt again. Because he'll love you forever if you give me the secret."

He hesitated. 

"Rupert, imagine. You and William. And there wouldn't be anger in his face, only love. And he wouldn't be resentful or in pain . . . he'd only be your _son_." She leaned forward gently, supplicating him with her beautiful eyes. "You and William and Jenny . . . you could be the family we never got to be . . ."

He couldn't stand it. He wanted it so much, he was shaking. "Promise?" he finally asked. 

She relaxed and grinned dazzlingly. She kissed him softly and chastely on the lips. "Promise."

He took a deep breath. "You must get Angel away from Acathla."

She was still absently stroking his cheek. "Why? Is he the key?"

Rigidly, he nodded and she stared back into his eyes. "H-his blood . . . he m-mustn't . . ."

She stopped and gave him a wide smile that looked faintly like a sneer. "Whoever opens the portal must use his own blood . . ."

"Yes . . . but Emma . . . how will you stop this?" He deseparately needed to know. "How will you stop his pain and mine? How will it get better?"

Her lips feel into a smirk and for a moment, she looked exactly like her son. "By ending everyone's pain. By ending _everything_." Her face contorted into a vile image of satisfied hatred then disappeared. And in that moment, Giles knew he was lost. 

"No . . ." he murmured frantically before realizing that there was no white cloud around him and his hands were still chained to a rusty chair. "Oh god, no . . ."

*************************************

"My blood . . ." Angel repeated, staring down at his milky white wrists. "Of course . . . of course I'm the key." Turning to Dru, he grabbed her joyfully and spun her around. "Oh god, Princess, we've got it made now! We know how to open the portal! Now no one can stop us!"

"Notice whenever someone says that, someone else invariably comes along to mess up all his wacky plans," Buffy quipped, prompting Angel and Dru to turn around. She was standing in the door next to Spike with a sword in her hand. Before Angel could give her a deadly scowl, she winked and smirked. "Hey, lover."


	25. The Battle

****

Author's Note: Much dialogue taken directly from "Becoming Part II"

Chapter 25: The Battle

"You," Angel leered. "I don't have time for you."

"Well, make time," Buffy replied piercingly. "Because it's just occurred to me that I never got the chance to properly tell you how peeved I was after you ditched me the other night. I was thinking we could sit down and talk maybe, have a little heart-to-stake." She held up Mr. Pointy derisively. 

Angel chuckled humorlessly. "Clever. Sorry baby, but I've got more important things to do than shoot the breeze with you. I've got a world to end. So I suggest you get lost, 'cause you're a little in over your head here."

Buffy shrugged and didn't move from her spot. "Being the world's chosen safeguard against the forces of evil isn't exactly pitching for the Little Leagues. I figure I'm right where I belong."

Angel swaggered to her slowly with a lazy smile. "Fine. Have it your way. Feel free to stay and watch the show. Too bad you won't get to applaud at the end. With you roasting in hell and all."

Buffy shook her head. "Not going to happen."

Louder laughter rose this time. "Right. You really scared me good last time we met up. That non-staking thing you did was very intimidating."

She hardened and gripped the stake tighter. "You wanna see the other tricks I got?"

Angel gave her a deadly grin and neared her. "Give it to me."

She launched forward, her left leg sailing in to connect to his neck, but he caught her ankle and spun her around, throwing her ruthlessly to the ground, her sword and stake clattering down beside her. Spike lunged to him, surprising him momentarily with a powerful punch to the face, but Angel just shook his head out of a daze and stared at Spike appreciatively, rubbing his chin. "You've got your daddy's spunk, Spikey," he cooed. "And I bet you have mother's flavor." He licked his lips mockingly. "Let me tell you kid, she was one of the best I ever had. I couldn't really _enjoy_ her at the time, what with the whole oppressive guilt-of-the-world thing I had, but the way she tasted-----so fresh, young . . . _scared_ . . .she was one of my most delicious victims."

Spike tightened and there was almost a flicker of yellow-ambered rage in his eyes fierce enough to rival a vampire's wrath. "I swear to God, I'll kill you----" he murmured in low, murderous tones.

"No!" Buffy had gotten up and separated the two, staring at Angel coldly. "He's mine."

Angel winked at her. "Always and forever, duchess."

He punched her in the face, but she quickly recovered, blocking another swing and doling out one of her one. She brought her knee up and rammed it into his gut, eliciting a low moan from him. She kicked him in the face and he fell to the floor heavily. She stalked up to him, grabbing a spare piece of scrap wood and tried to fling herself down, aiming for his heart. Angel rolled out of the way and sent her sprawling. He tried to grab her, but she kicked up off the ground and punched him thunderously again. Grunting with each uppercut she administered, she had cornered him into a wall, but he blocked her punches finally and did a roundhouse to her stomach that knocked the wind out of her. Staggering back, she was soon locked into a henchman's grasp. Spike tried to reach Angel, scrambling for the sword, but Drusilla shrieked and flew onto his back. 

"Bloody 'ell!"

"Stop ruining it, William! Stop ruining my party!"

He tried throwing her off, but her arms were like steel around his neck. "I don't want to hurt you, luv," he panted through her tight grip.

She shrieked again, throwing her razor-like nails into his face, scouring red streaks against his cheek. He responded with a head-butt that knocked her into a daze as she fell to the floor. He looked down at her frail body sadly. "Doesn't mean I won't, though."

Meanwhile, Buffy delivered a head-butt of her own on the henchmen. Turning around, she staked him easily and Spike had already successfully staked the other henchmen. They turned to face each other for a split second, reassuring each other silently.

Buffy nodded. "Get Giles, in the other room."

He hesitated. "But you-----"

"He's your father! Now go!"

He headed for the back room, and Buffy turned around, poised to kick Angel. But he had moved to quickly for her and wove his arm around her neck tightly. Her breathing constricted, she flailed helplessly. 

"Can't you leave well enough alone, Buffy?" he growled into her ear. "Little Ms. Slayer thinks she can cleanse the world of evil, but here's a news flash. Evil? It's gonna keep on coming. After I open Acathla, battling me will be the least of your problems."

She grabbed at his arm. "Don't flatter yourself," she wheezed. "You're the least of my problems now. You're just a simple stake-and-go case."

He chuckled and brought his lips to her cheek, letting them drift down her neck. "Right, baby. Keep telling yourself that."

He kissed her on the neck tenderly, and for a second, she let herself forget that he was evil. The touch felt so intimate and familiar and evocative of the Old Angel. Her eyelids wavered closed, but she forced them open and delivered a sharp jab to his eye and kick to his gut. He yelled and she freed herself from him. She held up the stake again. 

"I think I'll let _this_ do all the talking for me."

Spike meanwhile scrambled into the backroom and found Giles badly beaten and chained to a chair. His breath hitched up a moment, and he immediately grabbed a heavy axe and began to throw it against the chains. Giles seemed dazed and half-conscious. 

"S-Spike?" He sounded so lost and broken.

He hesitated and flung the axe against the chair again. "Right here, dad," he assured him quietly. It was the first time he has said the word and meant it. 

Giles swallowed hard. "You aren't r-real . . . you're not my son . . ."

Flinging up his head, he stared at his father, tensing up and clenching his teeth. "That's how I feel at times, but it can't be helped."

"N-no . . . you're just a vision . . . a h-hallucination. Like Emma . . . like your mother . . ."

Tensing up again, he gaped at Giles, finally shattering the chains to pieces. "You saw my mother?" he whispered in disbelief. 

Giles gazed up at his son blearily and nodded. "She said that she would protect you . . . she told me that we could be a f-family . . ."

Spike was silent, not knowing how to respond. His emotions were tumultuous and varied. All he could do was grab Giles, hoisting his weight onto one shoulder. "Come on old man. We need to get you home."

"No," Giles murmured. "Y-you need to stay . . . and help Buffy . . ."

Conflicted, he gazed from his father to Buffy, who still fought Angelus violently. Before he could loose himself in indecision, a solution presented itself. Ms. Calendar flung into the mansion, slamming the doors back. 

"Spike! Buffy!"

Spike and Buffy turned to view the source of the voice. As Buffy turned, Angel, free from her pummeling, wiped his hand on his cut forehead and grabbed the nestled sword out of Acathla. He grinned menacingly and parried it in his hand. Ms. Calendar gasped and Buffy turned round in dismay. Her eyes widened. 

"Oh God."

"The portal . . ." Ms. Calendar was shaking. "He opened the portal . . ."

Angel smiled and slashed the sword in the air. "This is where the fun begins."

Ms. Calendar was backing away, grabbing onto Spike and Giles. "I c-came to tell Buffy not to . . . A-Angel's . . ."

"Not to what?"

She stared at Spike, torn. Finally, she took hold of Giles and eased him off of Spike's shoulder. "You have to stay with her now," she directed firmly. "You have to help her fight. You have to help her stay strong. And whatever you do . . . you have to make sure she kills him with the sword . . . he's the key, the only way to close the portal is to kill him."

Spike stiffened, but still squared his teeth. "An added bonus."

"And Spike" she continued insistently. "It's very important that . . . well, make sure she does it . . . regardless of whathappens. Whatever he says, whatever he does, make sure she kills him." 

He stared at her mysteriously. What did that mean? Still confused, he nodded. "Get out of here," he said, flinging his head towards the door. Then, in a softer tone, he added, "Take good care of him."

Ms. Calendar nodded and dragged Giles away. At that moment, Dru awoke and screamed with delight when she saw Acathla, his hollow cavernous mouth growing larger and larger, as to swallow the whole world. 

"Oh Daddy! You've done it! The celebration's already started! Ms. Edith will be ever so pleased!" She barreled for Angel, but Spike blocked her solidly. 

"As pleased to see me, pet?"

Buffy grabbed her own sword and swung at Angel, who ducked it easily. He quickly thrust the sword towards her and her own sword clattered to the floor. He advanced her and she backed away in response. He sliced the air around her and she fell when trying to duck. She scrambled into the atrium on her knees and he still followed her ruthlessly. 

"Now that's everything, huh?" he whispered with a demonic glint in his eye. "No weapons, no friends, no hope."

Buffy closed her eyes, imploring herself for some strength to guard against whatever was coming. 

"Take all that away . . . and what's left?"

Quick as lightening, he threw his arm forward, jabbing the sword into her face. Just as rapidly, she grabbed the sword between her palms and held it inches away from her face. She opened her eyes. "Me."

She shoved the blade away from her, shooting the hilt of the sword backward, Angel. He stumbled back and she took the opportunity to kick him in the chest. As he fell back once more, she grabbed her own sword and tried to thrust it at him. He parried it just in time and they exchanged several blows and blocks. Trying to spin around, she threw the sword at him from above and he managed to block it, but not without falling to one knee. She kicked him in the side and he fell to the ground. 

At the same time, Dru stared up at Spike with intense scorn. "Let go. Mummy doesn't wanna play right now. There's a party. She's got to attend to the refreshments."

He smirked and whipped a stake out of his sleeve. "I'm thinking the refreshments can wait, Dru."

Her eyes widened and she softened immediately. "Pet . . ." she began with a hint of supplication in her voice.

"Party doesn't seem so important now, does it?"

She stared up at him, donning a soft expression. Her eyes turned imploringly puppy-like and her lips quivered helplessly. "You wouldn't want to do that to your Black Orchid Princess."

The soft expression was not lost on him and he could feel himself weakening. "I didn't want many things. And I don't want this. But it's the way it has to be."

"It doesn't!" She placed a hand around his neck and licked her lips luringly. "It doesn't have to be that way, William."

He willed himself to stay strong. "Don't," he ground out. 

"We can still be together," she cooed. "I promise we can. Don't you remember how we were together? All roses and honey, it can be like that again."

He tried to wrench her hands away. "No."

"Remember that night when you took out that vampire's nest down on Holloway and we made love there all night. It was the first time, the only time. It doesn't have to be that way."

"You're the vampire now," he murmured, the words still ugly and heavy to him. 

She nodded and bit her lip as she smiled. "But it's a beautiful world, pet. All those years fighting them, I could never see the stars the way I do now. I can see 'em now and they _sing_ to me." She leaned in and licked his neck sensuously. "Don't you want them to sing to you?"

He stiffened. To feel his love's body pressed to his, though it was cold, it was too much to take. The truth was he _did_ want the stars to sing to him. Anything, no matter how crazy it was, he would do anything just to touch her again. Rigidly, he nodded slightly. 

She grinned and stroked his neck gently. "That's right, my prince. It's what you want." Her eyes glittered hungrily as she closed in.

"Do you love me?' he murmured, the words tumbling out of his mouth as if out of his control.

She didn't even turn to look him in the eye. "You know I do," she replied, but her voice was altered and thick with hunger. It wasn't her innocent, girlish voice anymore. It was a monster's. It was then he knew that it was a lie, it had always been a lie. So he thrust out his stake again and hit her squarely in the heart. She gasped and jolted up, staring him in the face. As she began to crumble to dust, he clenched his teeth and answered:

"I love you too, Dru."

And then she was gone. All that was left of her was a pile of dust scattering about the floor. He felt his heart wrench and he choked a sob. He turned blindly to see how Buffy was faring, but she was still too occupied with Angel. She had raised her sword, ready to dispatch him, but of all a sudden, he let out a howling and shuddering cry and she hesitated. 

A spark of light flashed in his eyes then went dark again and she lowered the sword carefully. Groaning, he fell to the floor again and clutched his sides in pain. She shook with fear. What was he playing at?

Hoisting himself on his arms, he got up and stared at her. His face, previously shrouded with hate and mockery, was now open with love and fatigue. "Buffy?" he whispered softly. 

She widened her eyes and felt the tears start to drip onto her cheeks. No . . . no it couldn't be . . . 

"Oh God, Buffy." He was on his knees, reaching for her. "Oh God, I've been so lost . . ." he held his arms open and clung to her legs. And she could feel the love emanating from him. And she nearly screamed with joy and relief. He was back. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

She leaned down to face him. Spike still looked on in silence, too amazed to speak. "I know."

He stroked her cheek and kissed her. "Buffy . . . I love you."

She choked a sob and smiled dazzlingly. "I love you."

But then she saw past him to the growing blue glow that surrounded him from behind, filling the air with soft screams and moans of pain. This hadn't changed anything after all. Acathla's portal was still open. The world would still end if she didn't do something. She knew what she had to do. 

"Close your eyes," she said gently, urging him up. He did as he was told and stood, still holding onto her. 

She gave him one last, lingering kiss and felt like she was going to die. But then she brought his own sword up from her side and slammed it into his chest. It was too quick for him to react, and it was only a few seconds later when he screamed. 

She backed away and stared at her love, holding out his hand for her with a sword protruding from his chest. The hazy cloud of blue shot out of Acathla's mouth fully this time and tugged Angel, drawing him into the vortex. He began to call out for her, but it was too late. She stumbled blindly back, and Spike caught her before she could fling herself into a wall. He held onto her tightly and she buried her face in his chest, unable to bear the sight. 

With one last "Buffy!" Angel was gone. A flash and he swirled into Acathla's mouth. The quiet settled again and all they were left with was a stone sculpture and a pile of dust. The birds chirped and flitted outside but they couldn't hear it. All they could hear and see and feel was pain. 

Buffy fell to her knees and started to cry. She didn't try to restrain herself and just cried, trying desperately to relieve herself of what she had done. She had murdered her love. She was a murderer, not a slayer, but a murderer. They both were. 

Spike let her cry, not knowing what to do. He tried to awkwardly pat her on the back, but she continued to sob. He stared at her, realizing there was nothing he could do to help her. He knew because he felt the same way. So he just stood silently, stuffing his hands in his pockets. There was nothing to say. 


	26. Leaving Home

****

Author's Note: Song is "Full of Grace" by Sarah McLachlan and appeared first in "Becoming Part II". 

Chapter 26: Leaving Home

__

The winter here's cold and bitter

Chills us to the bone

Haven't seen the sun for weeks 

Too long, too far from home

He had walked her home to make sure she was all right. Well, not all right. More like, to make sure she was standing. Sometimes, he couldn't tell if he was either. 

He crept into his room through the upstairs window, as was his habit. He sighed and threw a stake on the bed, tearing off his shirt. It was still covered in dust. It was one of the few shirts he would ever burn after slaying. He didn't ever want to think about whose dust it clung to it anytime he wore it. 

He stared down at his bed vacuously. This place didn't seem like home anymore. It never seemed like home to begin with, but now, he felt like he had _no_ home. He felt lost and broken and confused and tired. But he didn't want to rest. No, he couldn't. So he went downstairs to see how his father was doing. 

He could say the words "father" in his head easily now. If anything was gained from this whole mess, it was that. Faced with the prospect of loosing Giles, he realized that he still did want a father, very much. Even if Giles had been a crappy one at that. He worried about him panicked about him, readily saved him. It didn't seem like much, but he supposed that out of all of this, having family was helpful. 

He was climbing downstairs when he heard them talking in the living room. 

"Oh bloody----oww!" He could hear his father wincing as Ms. Calendar applied the alcohol onto his cuts and bruises. 

"Stop squirming, Rupert."

"Well it bloody hurts!" 

Ms. Calendar sighed. "This is the _least_ of your problems. You should be more thankful that apocalypse was successfully averted."

"With no help from me," he muttered sullenly. 

"Way to sing the song of gratefulness."

It was Giles' turn to sigh. "I am more than ecstatic that Buffy defeated Angelus. I had faith that she would."

"I know. I thought it would be hard, what with the soul curse and all, but I guess it never worked. Must have been a glitch in the translation."

Spike widened his eyes. Was that what that was? He had been too shocked and overcome with a storm of emotions to tell. 

"The point is," Ms. Calendar continued, "that it's over and we can get on with our lives."

He could almost hear his father stiffly turn to question her. "Can we?"

"Well of course we ca---what do you mean Rupert?"

"I saw her," he murmured quietly. 

"Saw who?"

"His mother. Spike's mother."

Spike stiffened and stood stock-still.

"Spike's mother?" Ms. Calendar was shifting in her seat with surprise. 

"Emma. S-she's been dead many years of course and it was obviously just a hallucination Angel incurred on me to get me to talk but . . ."

"Well . . ." Ms. Calendar was forebodingly quiet. "What did she say in the hallucination?"

Giles paused and Spike tensed with impatience. "She said that she had seen everything. The way I've treated him, the way I . . . _haven't_ been taking care of him."

"Rupert don't say that----"

"It's true. I haven't. I . . . I don't think I even know how to, either."

"Oh Rupert . . ."

"I wanted so much more for him. I don't want him to turn out like me. The path he's headed on . . . I've been there. In my old Ripper days, I thought _this_ . . . the world of monsters and demons and evil . . . I thought it was all fun and games. I toyed with power I had no right to."

"You don't know he's like that."

"I don't and I pray he's never like that. But I can't take that chance. I don't want him here with me."

Spike felt like the words were a blow to his head.

"Don't want him here?"

He knew Giles was shaking his head. "No. It's not safe for him here. I want to send him back to London to stay with his grandmother."

He clenched his fists in anger. Although Giles was speaking out of concern, it sounded to Spike like he was talking out of the same, old "I want nothing to do with him" attitude. It inflamed him with rage. 

He had stayed for his father, to save him. But it didn't seem to matter. Giles didn't want him after all. His own son and he didn't want to be with him. It was just like the years of neglect all over again. 

"But Giles, he's your own son," Ms. Calendar pressed, voicing his own thoughts. "Don't you, as his father, want him here with you?"

Spike held his breath and waited tensely. "No," Giles said firmly. 

That was enough for him. It made him sick inside and he didn't want to hear anymore, so he barreled back upstairs, cursing his father under his breath slightly. He had moved so quickly that he didn't have a chance to hear Giles add sadly, "As his father, I want him to live somewhere where all this ugliness and hurt can't touch him. I love him more than anything, Jenny. I know he needs that."

****************************************************

__

It feels just like I'm sinking

And I claw for solid ground

I'm pulled down by the undertow

I never thought I could feel so low

In all darkness I feel like letting go

She looked around the room and remembered that she wasn't supposed to be there. And she didn't care much. She felt like she didn't belong anywhere. She felt dark and lonely and she knew that was the only place she deserved to be. 

She had killed him. Her own soft hands had brought the death of the person she loved most in the world. It was like the mark of Cain was plastered on her forehead and exiled her away from everything else she cared about, away from her family and friends. But maybe it was just about running. It was easier this way. She was sick to death of having to be the one who saved everybody and everything, especially when it meant that she had nothing to herself in the end. So she wanted to flee from her destiny, never to touch it again.

She packed a bag, haphazardly throwing contents into a suitcase. She counted the money she had managed to slip silently from her mother's wallet. She would pay her back one day. Whenever she forgave her for leaving. 

It was enough for a bus ticket to L.A. She didn't know why she was choosing L.A., but she had the faint idea it was because she would be a nobody there. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to be a nobody, dwelling anonymously in her own pain. 

As she finished counting the money, the winking claddagh ring, curled around her left middle finger suddenly drew her gaze. She stiffened and her eyes filled with tears. Hatefully, she dropped everything and tried to thrust it off, then throwing it, sending it sailing across the room. She choked back heavy sobs and continued packing. 

She was about to leave the room, but she remembered she had forgotten two very important items. One was the photo taken last July of all of them, Willow, Xander and herself, all together and hugging in the park. She paused and gazed down at it, stroking it affectionately before stuffing it into her knapsack. The second item was Mr. Pointy, still lying on her bed. For some reason, there was a sense of security that surrounded it and made it a comfort to her. She couldn't tell what it was, but she knew she had to keep it with her always. 

She gently entered her sister's room, watching her sleep peacefully. She edged towards Dawn's bed and smiled when she saw her grasping her borrowed pink pig, Mr. Gordo, with all her might. She kissed her gently on the forehead and left the room. 

She went to her mother's room the same way, but didn't kiss her. Instead, she just stared at her sorrowfully, knowing that Mrs. Summers would regret her words in the morning once she found Buffy's empty room. But it had to be this way. Buffy couldn't stay here and pretend to be happy when all she wanted to be was alone. 

***************************************************

__

It's better this way I say

Haven't seen this place

Where everything we say and do hurts us all the more

It's just that we stay too long in the same old sickly skin

I'm pulled down by the undertow

Never thought I could feel so low

In all darkness, I feel like letting go 

Spike stood cloaked in darkness, holding his thumb out to the empty road. Dim lights traveled down the stretch of concrete ribbon without stopping. Finally, one pickup truck with a load of boxes halted and an old man stuck his head out at Spike. 

"Where you headed?"

Spike shrugged darkly. "Anywhere you are, mate."

"I gotta deliver these packages to L.A. by morning. I could drop you off there."

"Then that's my destination." He hopped up into the cab just as a long Greyhound bus passed by in the same direction. 

Buffy stared out the window, thinking she saw someone she knew, but was too despondent to care. She settled into her seat, clearing away the new tears that joined the salty trail of old ones. She gazed blankly as the headlights struck the sign, gaily wishing her a happy departure from Sunnydale.

"Now leaving Sunnydale!" it said. "Please visit again some time soon!"

For the two broken hearts, ambling aimlessly to the same destination, 'never' would be soon enough for them.

__

Of all of the strength and all of the courage

Come and lift me from this place

I know I can love you much better than this

Full of Grace, Full of Grace

My love

THE END

To be continued in "Summer Sanctuary" 

****

Author's note: Yes that's the end! *Hint: I'm not very good with endings, excuse me if this one sucks, I just don't know how to end things*. I know some of you may feel cheated with the lack of Spuffy at the end, but I _promise_ that the sequel will have the B/S you all are waiting for. I'm going to be posting it up very soon on ff.net, please keep a look out for it. Thank you SO MUCH to those who have reviewed this story, I really appreciate it. 


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